Long Self reproach Poems
Long Self reproach Poems. Below are the most popular long Self reproach by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Self reproach poems by poem length and keyword.
In the patio, I sat watching the rain drops fall,
etching widening circles in the muddy puddles.
It was the first summer rain that soaked the thirsty earth,
stirring petrichor scent from earth’s moist womb,
unleashing uneasy memories from a distant past.
Once when we two were lazily sitting in the porch of her house
with no other soul to disturb our privacy,
the clear sky grew dark abruptly
and cumulonimbus clouds started gathering in heaps.
Vulnerable turned the moment when all of a sudden
it started to rain like nectar poured down from Heaven
Like a child eager to play in the puddle
she ran out into the pouring rain
Following suit, I too ran out, forgetting myself.
With a cool sensation running all over my body,
‘I kissed the rain’ as if kissing her luscious lips.
Soaked from head to foot, we both came in,
awhile my gaze got hooked on the filmy fabric,
seductively clinging to her body’s silky curves and contours.
All of a sudden, a wild urge beat me down
and Alas! Under a magnetic pull
surrendered her fragile self with ease.
In that moment of wild reckless desire,
consuming me like a conflagration,
I looted off all that she held chaste.
Never knew, with that impulsive act,
she sank into the abyss of dark despair
until I received a note with just one sentence
“Never knew- You were a dangerous dream”
Only with a sense of deep remorse
can l now listen to the pitter – patter of rain.
As the rumble of regret that rises from my heart,
grows into a roar of thunder of self- reproach,
I fear, I am losing my sanity.
Surrounded by pitch darkness, I wonder
if I will ever be left ‘spellbound by sunlight.’
Growing my hair down below my knees...
stimulated courtesy follicles,
where Coconut, Olive, Grapeseed,
Jojoba, Amla and Vitamin E oils
allowed, enabled,
and provided head start
germinating peach fuzz into brown strands
after Flaxseeds, Pumpkin seeds and Fenugreek
being sprinkled on my scalp
yielded a bumper crop of hirsute weeds
occasionally tripping me up
analogous to hallucinogen
causing a public health hazard
warranting, necessitating, and goading me
to give shout out for stylist
to tender mine lovely brunette locks,
which might be repurposed into a wig
for patients undergoing chemotherapy,
or afflicted with alopecia,
(the partial or complete absence
of hair from areas of the body
where it normally grows; baldness).
As a knobby kneed, puny,
scrawny, wimpy kid whose,
(back in the nineteen sixties),
his parents decreed their singular
(painfully shy dorky, geeky and nerdy)
old school boy who sported a buzz cut,
which found him reacting and responding
(in short order rebelling)
passive aggressively by
refusing to bathe
until mommy dearest demanded
(well nigh upon
the bewitching hour of midnight)
to witness her son soaked
and essentially marinated
(until my skin shriveled like a prune)
in the (clawfoot) tub
lest he stink to high heavens,
and given a serious dressing down
by the timely principal Mister Clock.
Far back as I can remember,
the significance of hair
assumed an outsize role,
whether enviously eying other lads
their thick straight hank,
or nowadays bristling
with self reproach
cursed with thinning
greasy limp strands
(interspersed with gray)
experiencing shame being seen in public,
a disgrace to our family name of Wagstaff
and an embarrassment
to the human race
ofttimes associating
myself with Samson,
whereat emotional, physical,
and spiritual strength
rooted (pun intended)
within each hair shaft
(the visible part of the hair
that sticks out of the skin),
and rooted in the skin and extends
down to the deeper layers of the skin
surrounded by the hair follicle
(a sheath of skin
and connective tissue),
which is also connected
to a sebaceous gland.
This is the story of Bertie Bucket
A highway man of daring and some notoriety
Who plied his trade around Rye and Hawkhurst
In 1740 but he was not that good you see
He came from a long line of Buckets
There were ten of them in all
His parents were a steadfast couple who had ten children
Five brothers, four sisters and one I cannot recall
He started stealing from an early age
About ten or twelve I think
He stole the purse of a well know judge
Which created such a stink
He ran away to the town of Rye
Where he found work as a stable boy
And learned to ride a horse quite well
And to be a Highway man was the ploy
So in a few years, five or six or so
He started his life of criminality
With his trusty new steed Old Bess a big black mare
They became a team you see
He rode the trails from Rye to Dungeness
Robbing Travelers Coaches and the like
The problem was the authorities
Never could find out where he would strike
On one such daring escapade
Everything went wrong that could
Whilst pulling his pistol from out of his belt
It went off and Bess galloped off into the nearby wood
It only just missed from shooting his toe off
His boot was quite a mess
So off he went licking his wounds
In a state of great distress
A few days later he was back again
And tried to hold up a coach
But the coachman was not so easily scared
And Bertie was full of self reproach
But his luck ran out one fateful night
At the Tavern the old Mermaid Inn in Rye
He was captured by the local militia
He could not escape how hard he did try
He was up in court before the Judge
Whose purse he had stolen years before
So he was sentenced to Hang as soon as it could be arranged
But a gale force wind broke down the court door
He leapt from the dock and was out in a flash
Grabbed a nearby horse and galloped away with speed
Out into the darkness never to be seen again
So any would be Highwaymen take heed.
Two faithful souls stand listless in the great big tower
overlooking the stranded city that once stood tall
yearning for a quiet place to lay their heads
while far beyond the deserted land
a soft blue light gleams gracefully above tranquil skies,
dancing shadows rocking to midnight tunes,
and sweet melodies echoing from the gigantic moon.
She spans more than a thousand feet long soaking
up the exhausted earth, her immeasurable depths
cuts and carve through valleys and streams
with clear blue water and powdery white sand
what more could you ask for on that distant land.
They have been planning this trip for many years,
but when the time draws near their saving disappears.
An empty refrigerator with two trays of frozen ice
lean against the corner of the kitchen
in their ten bedroom mansion
and a bare pantry exposing a slice of mildew bread
filled with little mice nibbling and playing tug of war.
Not many people knew their story
they have been broke for twenty years
but lived a painful lie, cutting corners
making back door transaction,
eating lamb and turkey from profits
made from sordid deals.
Their empire that once stood tall hangs in dismay
While it watches the world going up in flame
by those who continue to play treacherous games.
Sobibor and Hiroshima horrors of the past
Should have cleared the way for a more sophisticated path
But now athoroughfare mixed with complexity
packed with insidiousness
have ducks walking around
quacking without wings or tails
They finally got an offer to go to Utopia.
with packed bags not a penny in their name,
they set off for Utopia hoping to find a new life again
but when they got their it was the same old begrimed game.
Their entire world has been shaken,
shaken by its own guilt and self-reproach,
the transgression that their ancestors have borne
have been handed down for generations to shoulder
A land that they believe was pure and holy
has turned into nightmare and horror
dreadful things dismount in dark corners
women raped strangers abused
yet religion forms the core of the throne
They have witnessed empires toppled,
Kingdoms have fallen in their sight
Rulers have shaken and wept bitterly
causing the great big god to balance the scale
but blackmail in Utopia remains a formidable game
©2013 Christine Phillips
At times we should not be afraid
to roundly call a spade a spade.
I shrink not from a reference
to a fearful pestilence.
From Leo the king to a lowly vole,
the fear of death held all in thrall.
Even the amorous turtledove
found no appetite for love.
At last King Leo called together
birds big and small of every feather,
dogs, wolves, hares, horses, cattle,
to join a mighty fearless battle
against a woe that knew no measure,
that revealed divine displeasure.
In a tone both low and grave
the king proposed a way to save
his subjects from destruction's pit
in a way that would best fit.
"Beloved creatures, renouncing sins
alone celestial pardon wins.
Let each of us search heart and soul.
to find what error played a role
in provoking Heaven's frown,
sparing not Our royal crown.
We too have erred, let Us confess,
sharing guilt for the present mess.
Often We - Oh, truth to tell -
a flock of harmless sheep befell.
We must not omit to say,
the shepherd too his life did pay."
"Your conscience is too tender, Sire"
From all such self-reproach retire!
That shepherd got his just reward;
for humankind no tear afford.
Us animals they kill, enslave.
The world has lost but one more knave."
Thus spoke the wolves dressed in black
whose legal minds no cunning lack.
The animals told, one by one
all the wicked things they'd done
until it was a donkey's turn
to say for what his heart did burn.
"Once I was standing at a fence,
For what I did there's no defence.
I felt an urge - o woe betide! -
to munch grass on the neighbor's side.
Some demon drove me to so act.
Conscience forbid I hide the fact."
"Oh monstrous sin! Abomination!
Betrayal of the animal nation!
'Tis this wicked foolish ass
that has incurred God's wrath, alas!
The court did not brook delay.
Someone had the price to play.
Sometimes I fall, and it seems easier just to fall than to climb back up.
Because when I fall, I feel free.
I feel as though I can fly, but I can't.
I simply fall so fast and hard that everything starts spinning, rushing, and there's no time to think,
I get sucked into the storm and then spit out at the brink.
And coming to my senses is often too late. I lose everything.
Everything I worked so hard to gain, everything about myself, all my efforts in vain.
And the pain of losing it all is not worth the high I obtained.
Shame, guilt, anger and madness feed me till I'm full,
As I self-reproach and surrender to the pull.
As the storm calls me like the devil in the wind.
A perpetual loop from beginning back to end.
I always thought I’d hold that baby boy to adore,
but it looks like having a son just wasn’t in store.
The one that I lost, I wish to be back in my arms,
for this is but a burden I shall carry forevermore.
If only I could be more eager to be truly positive,
maybe then my soul could learn to be restorative.
Unequivocal assurance to bestow onto others,
then an unquestionable jubilant life I would live.
My final wish is to let go of all the guilt and shame
from when my sister took her life; o, all the blame.
To set my heart free from self-reproach and regret-
these three things I invariable desire…I do proclaim.
Three Wishes Poetry Contest
October 17, 2018
He was caught in a mine of a mind in reprisals admonitions and self-reproach
Had been looking for diamonds and gold but then the escape shaft caved in
Gotten shafted and the stake stuck like an iron rod from rock bottom to head
The metal changed colour in Jonathan’s lazy synapses as they flooded his brain
It had become a matter of intrinsic extrication no more death dance with poles
Now he was chasing a break out route but the canary had snuffed its last breath
The tunnels began to fill with water and he had to reason and ration his thoughts
Only one way to go he resolved but actually there had been two at the least
Three hundred meters or so in one direction eight thousand miles for the detour
‘Better to rest for a while then to start digging one scrape and crack at the time’
He had a bit of explosive left but the roof could cave in and bury him alive
‘If live gives you a barrow the wheels are still turning and I got a shovel’
The rescue team was far away and he needed to take self-control or expire
Water kept seeping up to his ankles so far so good thus he would not be thirsty
‘Disaster brought me to my knees before maybe the lessons have to taught me’
Jonathan was not an ancient legend and he could do without metaphoric riddles
Timing was essential but experience comes before essence ‘it’s time to get up’
Nothing to lose as he had very few possession ‘I think and therefore I am’
‘Searching for earthly possession got me here in the first place’ and in any case
He could not eat precious metals they would not make a dent in his pitiful pit
Even if he would only ever only scratch the surface he would go out with a bang
19th March 2019
Life is often painted in black and white
nothing darker do I fear
than the stygian plight of death.
My malaise is carried with unbearable weight
remembering each waking moment when
I didn't say "thank you" or "I love you."
Self-reproach is a penance I can never fulfill
because the dreadful thief of death
took you from me in the ebon reach of night.
I'm sick of hearing the meaningless words,
"You're lucky to be alive. Life is beautiful."
My life is a beautiful lie now that you're gone.
I'd give my life to find a way to you.
An alabaster portal is locked to me,
a pitiable wretched sinner.
If I were to paint it black would there be a chance
it would be blind to see who asks entrance?
But my fear of death...
keeps me from reaching into the pale to find you.
I cower in shame.
Damn my trembling hand that quivers and shakes,
for the portal denies my entrance.
My mind is an unassailable weapon against my will.
It paints in oils that are always blurred with kohl
and the agony inside of me will never be consoled.
there are very blurred lines between
what is coincidence and what is augury
omen, or fore-token
for in my dreams and meditation
I have been confronted with regret and shame
sorrow, and grief about my life thus far
my past is full of
condemnation and self-reproach
humiliation, self-punishment and tears
sending me on a journey of soul-searching
oh, I went for a palm-reading
for crystal gazing, for tea-leaf reading
and tarot reading with no real results
in my meditation I am looking for a sign
some signal or manifestation
some evidence of an omen
but can find none
so, I have concluded that my life
as it is
with its experiences is the same as
everyone more or less