Long Self importance Poems
Long Self importance Poems. Below are the most popular long Self importance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Self importance poems by poem length and keyword.
Gonifs and gossips revisited
since originally being crafted
approximately half dozen
dirty deeds done dirt cheap years ago...
Abound and lurk
within every nook and cranny
analogous to some annoying pest
harmless though one reside here,
when off his meds goes berserk
here at Highland Manor Apartments.
They snatch and snitch packages -
meant for other than themselves -
think Grinch who stole Christmas
plus snoop, i.e. eavesdrop
big Dumbo ears as listening devices
(batteries not required)
or serve as rumor mongers
to don self importance
and trumpet "FAKE NEWS."
We (yours truly and his misses)
dwelled at aforementioned residence
July first 2025 will be eight years,
and no sooner did both of us set foot
on premises than hearsay
immediately promulgated
(metaphorically swirled about our heads),
and passed like greased lightning
thru the robust grapevine
purportedly wife of mine
brought in live snakes.
Oddly and interestingly enough though,
I never actually never heard nor saw
a fellow resident
talk (or whisper in hushed tones)
about me outright.
Rather than badmouth other feisty folks,
which leaves unpleasant virtual
aftertaste described as phooey zook,
thus comeuppance to reprobate recipients
I activate viz cluck
king silly reasonable rhyme,
(so keeps head up
for urbane adverse city slicker
you better watch out
(...better not shout...) just duck
and run for cover cuz poet took
effluvia enroute spouted by word huck
stir, he avoids naming
(chatterboxes whose lives
so devoid of meaning,
they figuratively kickstart tittle-tattle),
who vocally ramp up
some juicy tidbit with any luck
taking page from former president playbook
letting their lips uncontrollably run a-muck
totally oblivious to credibility factor being a schmuck
buzzfeed initial kernel of truth and truck
outrageous zingers suitable for National Enquirer,
tragicomical, cuz mistruths
courtesy tenants exhibit chutzpah to pluck
farfetched outright lies and innuendos
rolling of tongues of then occupants such as:
"Bible Thumper/Holy Roller,"
"Bingo/ Phat Cathy,""Crooked Old Man,"
"Curvy Girl/Thunder Thighs," "Frumpty Dumpty
"Mush/Smash Mouth, "Snaggletooth,"
"The Bodyguard," "The Fossil," "The Schvartze,"
"Winkle," and last but not leased "Zha Zha”.
Give me fruit flies, mice
and/or roaches any day,
or give me death!
KING ALFRED THE GREAT MODERN ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS
King Alfred the Great (c. 849-899), arguably the first great king of England, may have done more to lay the groundwork for English literacy and literature than any other English monarch. And he was quite the scholar himself, although there is no consensus that the following translations were primarily Alfred’s work. He could have done the translations himself; he could have overseen the work; or he may have commissioned the translations. No one really knows.
Alfred the Great undertook to translate “the most needful works for all men to know.” He wanted to succeed “both in war and in wisdom.” Alfred has also been credited with helping to develop a new English prose style.
The Meters of Boethius: Prelude or Verse Preface
attributed to King Alfred the Great, circa 880 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Thus begin the tales King Alfred taught us.
The great West Saxon ruler, in his cunning,
Understood the art of all songmen,
Revealed his great skill as a poet.
Keenly he longed for Saxons to craft such songs,
To make men merry with manifold amusements,
To ward away world-weariness with pleasing poems.
Alfred loved poetry for its art and power,
Longed for it to free men from both boredom and pride.
But the arrogant man, in his self-importance,
Pays little heed to wise words. Still I must speak,
Begin my singing, weave tales well-known
For attentive mortals. Hear me, if you will.
Boethius Lay I: The Goths
from King Alfred the Great's Meters of Boethius, circa 880 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Long ago the Goths left Scythia,
swarms of shieldmen streaming from the east,
two savage tribes tramping southward,
both growing in greatness year by year.
Under the rule of two remarkable kings,
Raedgod and Aleric, their people prospered.
Many Goths made it across the Alps,
intent on conquest, raging with war-lust.
Braying brazen battle-boasts, eager to attack
the awaiting Romans, their armor flashing,
stout shieldmen descended, waving war-banners
and slashing swords.
They intended to overrun Italy...
Keywords/Tags: Alfred the Great, Old English, Anglo-Saxon English, Boethius Translations, West Saxon, poet, poetry, art, power, pride, wise, wisdom, king, kings, leadership, war, battle, England, literature, words
I once wrote a POTW, getting to know you, was the theme
Simple little rhyme, about soupers commonalities it seems
Now I’m discovering disparity, divisions, different schisms
Joining the dots together, one picture emerges, extremism
A few (leading lights), have gathered sheep into their pens
Who in turn follow them blindly, to anywhere and back again
None of my business you say, and I would be first to agree
But our paths must cross sometimes, as now you can see
Such is lies, such is truth, it’s all immaterial within a poem
A story is a story, our imagination counts, on bringing home
I manipulate words, trying to imbue you within stark verse
Encouraging open-mindedness, never planning to coerce
Others have hidden agendas, encoding influences of ambition
Deluded in their own self importance, to maintain recognition
Suppressing freethinkers, using propaganda, covert pretexts
Don’t like the tone of your language, get shunned by request
Teach us a lesson, an opinionated authority, waves a big stick
Seen this crap before in institutions, got caned as a small kid
Gaslighting, solipsistic, narcissistic, torchbearers of nothing
Pushing your own egos, not poets work, shameless plugging
Some fellow poets do fall foul, getting led up the garden path
Instead of expressing independence, write to appease wrath
So this message is from a nobody, and I’m calling you to task
Why! because I have a pair of balls, not satan behind a mask.
This is no exposé, majority of soupers, see through your cover
Easy now, I won’t mention any names, best ignore this nutter
I proffer diversity and conversation, no nihilistic atheist stray
Unlike his predecessors, won’t get disheartened or walk away
Look at history what happened, when pandering to dictators
Carrying swastikas in suicidal obedience, to Hitler their savior.
I’m not trying to tempt your faith,
write about god write about man,
But when man believes he’s god,
Yeah! we’ve already lost the plan
And for that habitual poltergeist
that keeps messing up comments
Are you trying to tell me something
or just afraid of the open contents
By
David Kavanagh
Management here at
Highland Manor Apartments sent out word
that tomorrow, January twenty third,
two thousand and twenty one,
we (all residents) will receive the first (of two)
inoculations to stave off getting COVID-19,
hence mine poetic title might seem absurd.
Aforementioned stance toward death
obviously antithetical
regarding desire to stay alive
and most oppressive
when mine mental, physical
and/or spiritual yours truly
takes a (swan) dive
analogous where bajillion bees
swarm from their hive.
Linkedin with well known poem by and by
penned by Emily Dickinson, I didst decry
expressed her relief to die
"Because I could not stop for Death,"
she aptly crafted verses to comply
reverently, merrily, and gloriously accepting
cessation of existence well nigh
as does one garden variety generic goofy guy.
All natural catastrophes aside,
plus excluding thermonuclear war,
where civilization would get fried
nullifying idea viz,
let conscience be your guide,
nor no place to run and hide
left to grapple with dystopian quandary
shuttering fright housed inside
in one poof annihilating prejudice
(white privilege included) and pride
reducing to ashes trumpeting
self importance, where snide
persona grata becomes irrelevant
as does living social
or vacationing in Telluride.
Interestingly enough,
I do not entertain notions
inflicting self harm nor suicide,
but expect longevity (to ride
one after another orbitz around the sun)
maximum total (represented courtesy
value units and tens place)
at minimum exceeds double digits
in plain English aged
to perfection groom and bride
attains at least ninety nine years.
Despite skittering within hair's breadth or blink
looming over the edge no time to think,
cuz no matter being knight in shining armor
I can scrunch and squint thru visored chink,
and espy and the title
of a storied book by Tom Wolfe I think
Old Rotten Gotham sliding into behavioral sink,
amidst so much flotsam and jetsam
while singing Skidamarink
surrender unavoidable fate
cuz destiny dis rapper doth not shrink
and recognizes that whatever does not kill
will only make me stronger
(money back guarantee)
I attain a spry five score birthdays
and while away hours
playing solitary game of tiddlywink.
True add verse situation,
whereat me mission
trans send dint state didst ache
after yours truly nearly
did nearly break
chassis 'pon took drastic
over corrective measure,
not quite August,
nor jejune piece of cake,
while rounding raised
curbed contra corner
suddenly felt wrath of wife quake,
viz passenger rear tire
gone flat as a pancake
impresario found myself
hearing Thus Spake,
Zarathustra, when in truth...
twas ma constricted trach.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Some weeks back
acting so cool and chic - bank
king all bravado, machismo
self importance, and frank
lee babbling like a cripple creek
off by a black key with Hank
Williams tune imagining
myself swaggering like a lank
key trump petting Don
(feigning faw being "Beefy") plank
walking lampoon able
laughingstock Freaky, thank
less as a lapsed worn eraser head
pencil necked Geek yank
key doodle dandy hood be
forced to do penance as cap
pit dull leotarded asinine
arthouse flop, where nary any words
(worth their weight in gold)
described my benign
behavior, NOT even
smattering of unflattering deign
nig grating hammock colorful expletives,
that would find an ensign
sailor to blush at my inept
shameless travesty over the line
utter in apropos totally tubularly
moronic juvenile mine
ness zero car raze zee antics,
didst drive my doppelganger nine
tee bajillion miles away in search
of another auto body – pine
ning for newer model
then a 2009 Hyundai Sonata sign
ning off contract with this
stunt driver wannabe
unimpressively try'n
to act the blithe dare devil,
while thee spouse didst wine
and scream more'n bloody Mary
as the gunned axle nearly broke
trying my damn nest to
"FAKE" dagger a type cloak
his husband resembled a fool,
where angels fear to tread didst evoke
unsuccessful, unstinting, and unsparing
unstrung epithets of colorful expletives
unsuitable for poetic folk
boot urgent prayer went out
to incredible Hulk
Hogan, and/or even the ghost
of Andre The Giant, this haint no joke!
i do not fear the legislation of man
or the degradation of individual rights.
i do not fear instant gratification
as it's message more aggressively rapes every outlet of entertainment,
even in seeing how it tears into our children.
i do not fear it.
i do not wonder why the dark side has power.
i do not wonder why kids don't respect adults and adults don't respect each other.
i do not wonder why there's so much death and murder and sickness and divorce.
i do not wonder why the clubs are full and churches are empty and abortion is legal.
i do not wonder.
today is the day people are making the choice of just who it is they serve.
today is the day the family bond is broken over self-importance, power-struggles, and sexual deviance.
today is the day that those who lead, prey on those who have trusted them and disarm those who knew better.
today is the day we have to lock our cars and our doors and our hearts.
today is that day.
but know this:
no law of any government can direct the heart of man.
no restriction can limit his ultimate rebellion,
and no physical depravity, his spiritual.
you can keep a tiger in a cage.
you can restrict his consumption to strictly vegetarian.
you can train him to sit and stand on command,
and to jump through hoops
and to walk on fire.
but you can never make him anything other than a tiger.
there is a much larger issue that is being clouded with the debris of the American constitution and its amendments-
an issue that reaches deep inside the being of a human, into what makes a man a man.
it is not our civil liberties we are being robbed of;
it's our hope, our faith, our strength.
it is not our personal security that is being invaded;
it's our minds, our morals, our purity.
it is not our children's sensitive psyches we are protecting;
it's our comfort, our feelings, ourselves.
it is not fetal tissue we are throwing away;
it's our children, our responsibility, our future.
see, humanity as a whole will arrive to the destination,
but each individual will be responsible for how we get there.
consider what's more important; what you do or what you know,
and remember that out of your heart will the entirety of your actions flow.
Mr CEO, How Much Do You Make
Going around in Whatsapp circle is a viral message...
About a CEO with an inflated ego hoping to burnish his image....
Being a CEO knowing his own worth and full of self importance...
He presumes the world has to be in awe of how much he makes...
Acting magnanimous, he politely and ever so sweetly asked his dinner mate....
Being a long suffering teacher, how much is it that the teacher makes....
The teacher, she paused in her dinner, and launched a monologue....
About how she teaches her students the virtues of patience...
And mathematics and how invaluable it is minus the technological aids...
Guiding them to a C+ that feels like achieving a congressional medal of honor...
Teaches all the future brains and big wigs of society, CEO's included...
Her monologue was cunningly crafted calculated to cut down to size....
All those egoistic CEO's who feel they have arrived at the pinnacle of success...
She ended her broadside, asking, How Much Do You Make, Mr CEO?....
Hohoho....
The CEO lives in a different world and goes by a different yardstick....
In his world, it is all money in business, losses and profits....
That's the bottom line, money talks and makes the world goes round....
The comforts of life is his for the asking, given the mega bucks he has to be making....
The teacher in question is obviously one very peeved individual....
Given the comparatively peanut salary everybody knows she has be given....
His resentment has built up for she must have felt or has been reminded once to often...
Her salary is peanuts compared to her many successful ex students...
What can she do but put on a show of bravado...
Just be scathing and craft out a creative answer....
While massaging her long bruised ego over seemingly salary failure...
Earning meagre bucks yearly at base level while her CEO ex students soar all over...
That she feels ultimately superior is obvious from her concluding query...
A challenge to her rival, Just how much you make, Mr CEO...
When truth be told, she has merely applied a different yardstick of measurement...
To deflect yet another CEO's disdain for yet another teacher who was once his mentor...
Hohoho...
the city's sick scar, fuels my descent, into this abyss, where twisted creatures writhe, in the darkness. cyclops with one eye, on the ball, three-headed puppies, sealed behind glass, strippers selling tickets to the apocalypse. a demon, a door-to-door salesman, asks for my dough, my scratch, my entire lunch budget, think i’m some golem, bred for his amusement. newsflash, satan, inc.: i’m not buying what you're selling, not today, not ever. i unleash the nuclear option, a superwoman uppercut, his face hits the cranial drain, and my hand screams in sweet agony. this just got real, this just got weird. this is my life, where lunacy is currency, and I'm the clerk, jacking waivers to the outskirts of sanity.
*
cankers of the damned, blinded by the sun of self-importance, rot in your own stagnant depths. i’ve swum in this abyss, feasted on the carrion of the city's discarded dreams. the abyssal labyrinthine, where the absurd and the grotesque, dance in the candlelight of a lonely night. the demon's words, a siren's song, luring me to the shores of chaos, i’ll take the punch, in the face, in the gut, in the depths of my own haunted psuche. for in this twisted wonderland, i am the madness, and the madness is me.
*
i stumble through the ravaged streets, a flautist of the fragmented, my breath a thanatopsis for the unreal. i’ve collected the relics of a thousand midnights, the whispers of succubi and the fiddles of the dying. the world's a circus of somersaults, and I'm the ringleader, juggling the shards of a shattered mirror. the devil’s chuckle still echoes, a calliope tune in the halls of my mind. i’ll grab a bottle of venom, a vial of hellfire, and dance with the shadows, where the darkness is my solace, my home. in this city of broken dreams, i’ll find my song, my opium for the masses, my requiem for the damned. tonight, i’ll give the monsters a show they'll never forget, a festival of freaks, a bacchanalia of the grotesquery.
*
as my body sits here on the edge of pandemonium, my mind wanders for what the true meaning of all this is, will they meet in some back alley so my frame can be the structure it needs to be, stay tuned.
Small, Medium At Large Units...
Define paradigm since time
immemorial does find
me defied, electrified, and generated
fascination within my mind,
despite spacious essence invisible to blind
people, or even those blessed to find
pointed laser insight more pertinent
when a visible beam shined
into infinite void of space,
where coordinates aligned
since humans stood erect
to measure existential blocks assigned
within very brief span that consigned
an average life on terrestrial
firmament more of a grind,
when omnipotent self importance
mandates no child shall be left behind,
yet unwittingly civilization dictates
everyone must be forcibly inclined
to synchronize, mechanize, and harmonize,
their every breath entwined
analogous to a pinned insect specimen
semi restricted to maneuver within
nebulous unseen all encompass
sing fourth dimension since...
my Neanderthal ancestors
huddled around protective hearth
yet,...no idea when,
(whether before
my conception, in utero, or at birth)
my noggin got gripped
with names woolworth
their weight in precious
gems or even salt
(steeped from legacy bygone ancient
civilizations) linkedin lightly
peppered planetary girth
various passages of time,
each mortal allotted on Earth
(measured in seconds, minutes,
hours, days, weeks, months...)
one season does leave,
and another one fall lows win touring
Santa's sleigh for those who believe
conveniently evinced as sands
slipping down humongous sieve
denoting reasons for joy or to grieve
and inquisitiveness attuned
when every stations broadcasts
countdown by Jeeve
parsing segments, not only prompting
objectives I did satisfactorily achieve
(during another orbit of Gaia,
when passage of time
signifying poignant heave
ho every New Year's Eve),
but really the entire ticking
tocking clock scaffold
poses as an artificial construct,
as well the jolly green giant
with one or another
expansive FLOTUS on his/her greensleeve.
(The Angel)
Come to the edge of the planet and watch the flashing cross section of our entities
(The Witness)
It was meant to be bigger than this
Where’s the fireworks?
The billions of lights that were promised to me?
Leaving now would be rude and staying too long seems awkward
I push my hands forward through a living organism made of water
my eyes finally tell me I’m ready to see the full picture
what was revealed scared the light out of me...
(The Angel)
Lies repeat, lives deceased, loves diseased
remember the good ones
they were there when parallels had meaning
(The Witness)
You’ve changed everything
I’ve never believed in you yet here you are
a living slap to my jaw as a wake up call
I’m ready to learn...
(The Angel has the floor)
Ten billion figures walk uncertain of a direction
much is known about that
We’ve seen your words
We’ve read your cross examinations
In a world made up of twins, the faces don’t seem to match
I’ve wreathed a galaxy with stars and poured wormholes into solar systems
but I can’t for the life of me save you
It’s all forsaken
and with you under my wings
I’ll allow you to shiver and watch the eons collapse...
(The Witness)
How can any of this occur within a visual hysteria?
How can you allow these thoughts when we’ve only just begun to learn anything at all?
to bear any sort of mutual simulation
I’ve cursed a billion times and blew over statues
yet I’ve held the hand of the loved and reciprocated all that you gave me
Positively, honestly, completely
(The Angel?)
Save me for the details have blurred edges and your tongue resembles the road less taken
Save your pity for a prettier soul
I’m not who you think I am
I’ve been the one dragging you to hate
the idiotic self importance
held hands with sin and bloated ego trips
sat next to the devil while he spun his thread
I’m not who anyone thinks I am
lift your smokescreens and see my true form.