Long Scorn Poems
Long Scorn Poems. Below are the most popular long Scorn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scorn poems by poem length and keyword.
In the atmospherev of love, a paradox reigns
Where women chase the tumult, the heart's pains
A nice guy's gentle touch, a soothing breeze
Bores them, and they yearn for the stormy seas
Peace, a virtue men pursue, is a curse
To women, who crave the whirlwind's traverse
A man will flee the drama, the emotional strife
But women cling to the rollercoaster of life
The sweet-bitter thrill, a potent aphrodisiac
Lures them, and they succumb to its toxic charm
Even in calm waters, they'll stir up the deep
And conjure dramas, their souls to keep
A nice guy's kindness, they'll exploit and use
But a bad boy's edge, they'll crave and refuse
To let him change, for in his rough terrain
Lies the excitement, the thrill of the unknown game
If he yields, she'll scorn him, her attraction lost
For the bad boy's mystique, she cannot be crossed
But if he resists, she'll stay, her passions aflame
Tethered to the chase, the emotional game
So, men, beware, the earlier you know
The better for you, to traverse this woe
Nice guys don't win, their hearts laid bare
For women's hearts beat for instability's snare
Treat them as they wish, with a measured hand
Don't overdo, don't try to understand
For in the tumult, they'll find their delight
And in the peace, a dull, unending night.
Have you seen what the hens and chicks have added? She asked me.
I had no idea, but I was going to be going to the succulent forest for tea.
When I arrived, I was amazed at what I found.
A mommy duck and her two ducklings swimming around.
Where did they come from? I asked the forest, but the wind laughed.
I want some too, I said to them. All I have is a stubborn giraffe!
The wind would not tell me, and the oak trees were numb.
The hens and the chicks pretended to be deaf and dumb.
Come on! I implored them. Please let me know where to find.
My own mommy duck, please have mercy; be kind.
We had her flown in from Iowa, they told me. it’s winter up there.
I asked them for the address, and boy did those hens and chicks stare.
You cannot say where you got it, they warned me with scorn.
Those farmers are tough in the land of the soybeans and corn.
They struck a hard bargain too, but I got rid of the giraffe.
So, in a way I got the very last laugh.
A sad Southern tale
It was a disturbing wonder
When, In the midst of a bountiful harvest
There arose a call
To weed, trim, plunder and even murder
Every east, west and northern brethren
Who drifted to feast across the southern border?
Now you know how to hack and spear your brethren
Those who stood yelling, stoop wailing
Just to see you, toe Freedom Street
Alas, after being spared from your iron shackles
Your years was spent ploughing yesterdays wrath
While farming today’s seeds of scorn
Your bountiful harvest
was resentment and hasty judgement
Never realising that you were still in bondage
brought so much bewilderment
from these awakening events
Revealing your hidden fetters
And soulless chains
unraveling the veil
Shading up your blind wills
And your fallen hopes
Now you hear that call
Deadening you unto reality
Those voices that in time past
had thundered your paths
along freedom way
now resonate with livid hatred
prompting you unto violence
even to your own kind
Christmas Eve night, drunks have a fight
They’re not calm, they’re not bright
Trying to buy wives a last minute gift
Grabbing the last one, it’s caused a huge rift
Cops called to uphold the peace
Cops called to uphold the peace
Christmas Eve night, drunks have a fight
They’ll regret it at daylight
Both displaying a painful black eye
Vying for perfume that’s in short supply
They treat each other with scorn
They treat each other with scorn
Christmas Eve night, drunks have a fight
Both responsible for their plight
Radiant beams come from a cop car
Sent to the cooler - it’s not very far
There there’s no festive mirth
There there’s no festive mirth
A Christmas Carol Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Regina McIntosh
Sung to the tune of Silent Night
12/22/21
septets
Rain fills our lakes with rich resource
on which the fish and fowl rely.
Their life flows with the rainy clime.
Mankind requires rain too, of course,
precipitating fear in time
as tribal dances testify.
Drought brings man to his last recourse.
Flooding of rivers, lakes and seas
causes damage on the game reserve.
Plants and animals lose their ground.
Tribal dances seek to appease
a god whose grace and mercy abounds
when deluge takes a nasty curve.
Prayers are poured out in hopes of ease.
Environs’ balance is no easy task.
as mountains, valleys and forest streams
supply nature with health and growth.
Human nature, somewhat selfish, basks.
in give-and-take which stirs a two-faced oath -
if God can hear and will my life redeem,
I’ll dance and wear his sacred mask.
For hundreds of years, the skies were dry;
a mist met all that nature needed.
Creation failed to meet God's mark;
confidence in Him went awry.
Noah roused by notions of an ark
was engulfed by scorn. Contempt receded
as rain starts to dance. Rain hears no man’s cry.
written 28 January 2016
Come by the Sword, Die by the Sword
They stood in ranks a thousand long
High upon the hill
The Roman legion, fierce and strong
With sword and lance and bill
The Briton hoards below them stare
With wild fanatic eyes
They jeer the foe and beg them dare
With anger and despise
Come and fight you cowardly foe
Come and meet your fate
We’ll cut you down, row by row
Send you to heavens gate
With scoff and scorn the Romans yawn
What empty threats you speak
We’ll rip you limb from limb this morn
You’re scrawny, thin and weak
Down below, laughter roars
Your bellies, we will slice
We’ll lay you dead, in your scores
Come prove your men not mice
We will arrive and make you pay
For indolence and taunt
You will eat every word you say
When they come back to haunt
It’s easy up on high to gloat
But everybody knows
It’s our intent to cut each throat
And leave you for the crows
But when we make our move towards
There’ll be no shy nor rests
We’ll plunge our sharp and bloody swords
Deep in those ragbag chests
Think of your girlfriends, mothers, wives
For them there’ll be no gains
Will be, as we, cut short their lives
When we spill out your brains
For one last time you’ll see the sky
Cause you’re not leaving whole
When heathen head is raised up high
On legion victory pole
Gasp deep upon your final breath
Invader of our land
Your destiny this day is death
By rude and brutish hand
With sword and lance and bill
All break into their stride
With voices booming still
Blood fills the wide divide
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March forward to today
Though forces re-arranged
And ask them in what way
Anything has changed
Un-knowing i write..Of un-known plights..? On a pightle
Of troth.' Against the bile.. Galling just those few.' Where
I come across.' The law is dead.' Salvation is instead.' For
A time such as now. He has fulfilled His vows.' Then a point
Will be reached.' All will be taken' all the heavens then to be shaken.' Nations will be lamenting.' Yet their sovreignity
Is taken.' Given to the vile ones.' The visceral spewing guile
Ones.' They smack all in the face.' Your tears show strong
The trace.' Of the power the abusers.' Who scorn the world
Who break and tear, yet who can? Dis-abuse who hears.? Or cares.?
The sinner's debt has Jesus paid,
And saved the world from Satan's raid.
"Death, death," rang from hell;
And thus did sin's death knell.
In anger, He left the throne;
Stormed the earth with victory tone.
He dealt with sin once for all;
And stilled the rumble and the gall.
In pain, he cleared the debt
That God's just anger be met.
For the Father's sake, and mine,
He let heaven's light shine.
Weighed down by sin and the cross,
He plodded up Calvary, to the devil's loss.
There the holy died for the sinner,
And made sin's victim the winner.
His action, the world can't grasp,
Blinded by sin in tight clasp.
So it reacted with angry scorn;
And dared not his death mourn.
The world still wears its shame;
Denies the power of Jesus' name.
So the devil romps with glee, strutting;
While the world cowers, hurting.
© 2014
what whispers make you smile
and who is your secret
that you wish a world to wonder
what awaits him who wishes
to love you
what allows him to have you
as person
tell me your secrets
that i might make them a script to
have you mine
what do you what from a woman
is it to couple and procreate
do you demand loyalty
and command obedience
are men against you being loved
and wish to unravel your happiness
which methods fo you use to acquire submissiveness
and are you chored by the labors
of being together
what have you done to
be so wise
or are your wisdoms from ways of gaining trust
to then make victum of them that
have trusted you
am I the fool
to be crazy for someone
who wishes for me
to be satisfied and then
love scorn by
your turning
from good to evil
why are we then gaming
to create rules as we go along
the way.
what am I
who am I
and then
who are we
Have I not marched enough alone, with a flag, but no home?
Does my spine bend, not break, from the scorn of my own?
My most jagged break from you is declaring myself Lord God of that which encompasses me.
I’ll still need you to avoid stepping on my sneakers.
I’ve found myself frying pieces of other lives, then getting mad at the meat for being red.
I’m still mad at the weak for being dead.
For what is more grotesque than a beautiful recluse?
Why, he’s worse than a mad man, is he not?
A mad man fuels the fire, and fans the flames
of your sociopoliticoreligicos, be they brutal or tame.
A recluse has amputated a part of you, as we’re all connected. Sniff the ether and respect it.
What if you needed someone to agree, or a vote to be cast, or a soul to be saved?
Even Jefferey Dahmer found Jesus in prison, and his sins were washed as white as snow.
But that cursed recluse. He watches you, doesn’t he?
I bet he turns on the news, and watches you cry over rock stars, and hold signs for candidates, and scatter like rats when a gun man opens fire.
He’s probably a damned good shot. He could have saved you.
But no, not the recluse. He has his groceries delivered, and he eats his popcorn, and he plays himself in chess while you sit in bumper to bumper traffic.
Just who in the f*** does he think he is?