Long Setbacks Poems
Long Setbacks Poems. Below are the most popular long Setbacks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Setbacks poems by poem length and keyword.
A marriage formed by insisting parents
To join lands and force grudging events
We stood stiff, shivering and apprehensive
Each of us nervous, fearful and defensive
He was over six feet one inch tall
I was only four feet eleven inches small
Clutching wilted wild flowers to my breast
Wearing a shapeless yellowed white dress
His shirt was murky grey his suit was done for
Pants too short and his coat an eyesore
The minister mumbled words barely audible
Yet we heard him say without any fumble
I now pronounce you man and wife
Together you are forever joined for life
Dizzy, I fell into shadows and confusion
But my new husband moving with precision
Caught me his enclosing arms fixed firmly
Saying softly in my ear and only for me
I’ll take care of you, I promise, wait and see
We began our marriage studying each other
Faking indifference our interest under cover
My husband was confident and never grim
I became proud that folks respected him
His humor was dry spicy and often wicked
I’d blush and laugh I just couldn’t help it
His cursing was mild but if he was riled
He’d switch to Croatian no translation required!
We began to thaw to be at ease to yearn
Each of us maturing determined to learn.
We worked hard to make a stable marriage
Careful to find nothing to dislike or disparage
The core of our marriage was warmth and contentment
As we tirelessly worked towards a life-long commitment
Laughter and tenderness ensued sharing passion
Soft endearments whispered even if old-fashioned
We had stops, starts, and minor setbacks
As we finally tread on true and straight tracks
We cultivated a strongly anchored life and love
That enclosed us like a favorite and well-fitted glove
Our foundation cemented as the years sped by
We had no children and only God knows why
We filled this lack by composing and teaching
He a sports coach instructing and training
While I by feeding and seeding in writing
To those young minds uncluttered and seeking
A short path is upon us as we rehearse our final bow
Our off-stage exit beckons as we share a loving vow
To never forego our familiar and loving banter
That has been the link forging our balanced center
That cultivated our strongly anchored and enduring love
That now resembles a familiar and favorite well-fitted glove.
Revised March 22, 2019
Seems my handwriting will never improve,
Yearlong efforts, letters still oblong.
Not quite right, but we pretend it’s not all bad,
I fixate on each line, a prerequisite approach.
So next and then that line and its spacing, proper
striving for excellence, sentence, cursed to find
some semblance, a distant echo. Earshot.
Eardrum. POP!
Outward rang disdain, my reality indifferent,
Marks resembling a bell curve in chicken sketch,
It distorts my outlook, tarnishes self-image.
I try with practice sheets laid out,
Only to be reminded of the horrors I scrawl within.
Devastating, humiliating,
Suppressing nausea,
Sick of this, hating my own thoughts,
Ruining half-decent poems or ideas.
Regardless of merit or talent shown,
sent into the fire.
scribe on restroom walls
its contrived and
makes me writhe.
I discard writing tools,
My creative well runs dry, deceased,
Gone, past tense, already done in.
Progress slower than a snail,
with kidney failures
Skull soon exposed.
I’ll tear at my scalp,
Writing used to be fun.
You'll say, 'shut my trap'.
The torment I hold towards
every pen, pencil, or marker on any shelf.
Chasing after graphite,
specific utensils, lead grade, ink, acrylic,
I want them gone, obliterated,
Every trace, every hint.
EXTINGUISHED EVERY PEICE OF
. . .
Sorry, I get carried away...
This heretic! The disappointment,
Frail and brittle behind every attempt.
All result in zero, void, null, nil.
Here I sit, head in hands,
My task forever incomplete,
More setbacks, my drive
and desire to compete.
Now I understand why progress is elusive, unseen.
Hard-scoped when each step shown seems hopeless
rooted in the waste of regression.
I would be remiss if my speech lacked spirit.
Results: Inconclusive
Next topic: I digress,
I relinquish anima,
Lay to rest a thousand eyes’ constraints,
Seeking arrangements through attainment.
If there's space to graze, then seize the day.
Something bountiful in the invisible,
Nature's beauty in the winds of change,
Wrinkles on sheets of belief,
A moment for molecules deem insignificant,
Nested in the fabric of space-time,
An embarrassment that's all mine,
It is really all fine.
Signed, A construct for mortality.
No time to write a sonnet
Tip of my tongue not rehearsed
Might be time spent useless
But that’s ok here’s the verse
In the water you set me free
How can i forget
Sins forgiven once for all
Atonement you had met
You hung dry and nailed up there
That I cannot repay
Unmerited favor on me
What more can i say?
I do not deserve that gift
Gratitude extends beyond
You have bridged the abyss
And grabbed me from despond
I struggle to make you known
To those who need you most
From the suburbs and outside
The city to the beaches coast
Fear of man is a deadly snare
This I know is such
I try to give you my best
But still I lose the touch
Scared that I will not be
Able to finish this race
Started strong and fast
But now can't keep a pace
How can I keep up?
Doubted all my life
And support the kids?
And inspire my wife?
Still believe what I said
I'll follow you for sure
Fallen down to much
Which leaves me insecure
Did not know how hard
To live right and repent
Still trying to figure out
Just why you were sent
Worries and pleasures come
I’m tangled up in thorns
Doubt my salvation took
Was I really “reborn”
Can you heal my disease
A doctor for the soul
As these years pass by
My heart is a dark hole
Deep insecurity
That I cannot shed
Stricken with sensitivity
And stuff inside my head
Slave to what master’s me
I haven’t any to blame
Setbacks trample me
My disgrace and shame
Use a broken tool?
To honor your crown?
A corrupt fool?
One who’s been beat down?
No more running from you
Again same old song
Where can I go?
Back to you where I belong!
Hearing of you I’m terrified
But is also bitter sweet
Need more grace and comfort
Trembling at your feet
How did the ancients do it?
With discouragement and fear
How did they stay faithful?
Knowing that death was near
Sometimes I can’t see at all
Wonder if your close
Sometimes I feel you are gone
When I need you the most
I request that you would walk
With me throughout my day
Please come and fight for me
Hurry don’t delay
I know your voice again declares
“Just follow and obey.”
“Remember that I’m the potter,
And you are just the clay.”
By:beardedJarhead
Nostalgic Man
I have faint memories of what the world I live in use to be. Now the world is a faint memory of what I use to be. I remember the faint cries I use to cry behind those walls, when there was no one there to see the misery I had inside.
Nostalgic sense of reality, is what my faith is based on, the trust that I have is based on the past transgressions my life is built upon. When you cry tears of pain, and no one is there to wipe those tears away, no one but the ones that love you the most like mothers, brothers and sisters. Those tears will harden the softest of any heart, and lock pain in places that not even a strong rain can wash away.
I can remember days that I use to pray that my brother make it back home, and I prayed that the demons of the night wouldn't take him away from this world and leave him a lost soul. I spent timeless nights praying that my younger brother would be in a state of mind where he would not need to be, stuck in a place where people uncaring could not see the person that reside. Not know that his pain is unknown and our selfish heart will never know, what his mind is thinking of, when our simplicity in faith leaves us in the unknown.
I prayed that God would bless my mother, so after all the years of tribulations she would not have to struggle and the setbacks of the past would stay just that, in so she rise, in so she rise. I prayed that God would bless the footsteps of my little sister, she is so special, she is confirmation there is a presence of a higher power somewhere in the heavens.
Now with these faint memories I remember God lessons. He said to me. “My son you have to be strong and faithful to whom you are, you will be the world’s blessing and no weapon formed on this earth will get in the way of these blessings”. So as I walk these lonely streets physically alone, I understand that within my body is each one of the loves of my soul. I now understand if the people I love continue to love me the same. Then In reality I am never alone, the lonesome days and nights are only a figment of my dreams. Then I know when I wake up I will be a faint few miles away from the home where I should be.
Sex, Death, and Regeneration, our Transformation
We cannot change the world, and we can't change another
We can only change ourselves and illuminate our endeavor
To see good or bad, as simply, the outcome of possibility
To know that our perceptions are only, 'our' perceptions entirely
Our purpose is to learn, grow, & evolve into oneness of individuality
Towards the inner, and greater conscience...and to love in simplicity...
True love would last forever, or so, I was led to believe
As left alone, unspoken, and surely deceived
Is this humanities way, my silenced thoughts conceived
Or is this another wish, my karmic soul persist, rendering grieved
Peace, love, & unity... the father, son, & the holy
'the ghostly trinity'...
Brahma, Vishnu, & Shiva, ancient mythology
'without great war, there cannot be great peace'
The suffering and the past, evolving spiritual release
Just some thoughts, as that's flickering through
As my mind wonders, proverbial quotes as they do
Um, the symbolistic trinity in the Veda, also the Trishul of Shiva...
Tattooed on my hand, a fulfillment of my favor
Sometimes I wonder if, and other times I don't know
Life's bright, yet dark. unknowingly we grow
The sweet, if we've never tasted bitter
The good if we've never had the lesser
Then there are moments of 'just is'... A trinity of kind
Frawley's law, that's ultimately refined
'can't have your cake, and also, eat it too...'
Yet the inner fool, always wanting to...
Truth, vision, and the abundance of our soul
Learned, tormented, and negligence grow old
The fire, our feelings, and the winter, passion as cold
Forgotten as inhibited, within conformity being told.
We endeavor for fulfillment, as within, our desired world,
The ultimate lesson, our satisfaction unfold
A transient nature, as lasting values lie cold
As fulfilling yourself, and in drawing wisdom learnt
The desires gained, our soul left empty, emotions burnt
Preoccupying for self-aggrandisement, as eventually
Our ends in setbacks, and our infelicity.
S
F
B
Mindless our nature, lost is our contempory
A Change Is A Com'n
Though this baby boomer,
(who didst roam man
upon this Earth
since the year
mcmLix) does not
coon sitter himself
a political activist his wear
re: some ness, particularly
with chronic setbacks
inaugurated by President
Donald Trump, an in volunteer
re: response, (asper just
the faintest hint
of a smile) veer
really played itself across
my countenance un bear
ably impossible to depress, repress,
and/or suppress, upon
gleaning America Online
cover headline indicating
Representative Beto O’Rourke,
a (Texas Democrat) care
fully, sir up tush hiss lee,
reportedly, and quietly
considering a 2020 grab
for White House
commander in Chief chair
met with Barack Obama dare
ring political polls
to hedge intimation,
though true motives unclear
that said progressive
former named person
(from Lone Star State)
might be seriously sincere
conjoining what promises
to be a dynamically
hearty, lucky, and plucky
solution to uptear,
the present woebegone crisis
of dreadlock, gridlock, and
padlock stasis, the political
ship of state (Leviathan
countenanced by Thomas Hobbes
circa 1651) pitching
United States government
upon reprehensible threshold
inching the Doomsday Clock
closer than ever to thermonuclear
global mortal kombat triggering
unset of unstoppable subnuclear
barrage in record time (mere
minutes transforming the
world wide web into
many a schmear
compromising most all life
into a bajillion bits
of pulverized powder,
guaranteeing the demise,
sans *****sapiens,
and thus no
Santa Claus to steer
the motley crue
of feisty reindeer,
this above mentioned dissolution,
would sadly, unfortunately,
wretchedly remove *****
as well the straight
sexually oriented persons matter,
would become reconstituted
into surprise show stopping premiere
of some alternate lifeform,
no doubt signalled
with at least one outlier
or maybe even a noncareer mutineer!
Today the Sunday special brief
iCloud online worship session, I did attend
(via remote support)
found me feeling pampered,
when adept technical support
didst figuratively bend
over backwards, thus aye defend
glorious, righteous,
and zealous Gurus who did expend
their religious fervor, without proselytizing
and sanctified dedication they proffered
as if this secular chap hapt tubby
a long time Facebook friend
diligently persevered amidst
my woeful yelping alarm
where bot sized wetbacks, setbacks,
and drawbacks,
required a secret char
which this netizen vaguely understood
as unfair be-tidings disallowing
thyself to purchase additional farm
ming out iCloud storage
in the deleterious harm
akin to buggy ah mush swarm
comprised documents
(painstakingly slaved over with zest)
plus sundry data necessitating mooch hoe
legal tender (probably every
last red cent of mine) to in vest
concerted efforts of
at least one expert to test
her/his mettle in an attempt
(dim prospect) performing an in quest
to retrieve valuable data lost amidst a nest
of inaccessible "lost" information
(bantering with computer
jargon more so jest
with no intention to "FAKE"
trumpeting minimal knowledge
judiciously impressed
upon thine fifty plus
shades of gray matter, at my be hest
expressing scant cumulative
disc cussing duff frag
minted understanding lest,
a personal goal
to incapsulate in poetic best
not abandoning frustration
with this Macbook Pro
cuz, positive experience
wrought with Apostles eye attest,
so rather then vent
my spleen in vein
hie desisted
to rage against the machine,
and tack toward being urbane
thus, rejoicing with a cherry,
hearty, and mighty byte hooray,
asper driving,
exercising, and foisting
gentle circuitry vis a vis
neurotransmitters and neuromodulators
nudging pull-ups
within cerebral terrain.
Once there was a land where stanadrds were high and milk and honey flowed,
As freely, and as efficiently as if they were water.
Every year the locals took stock of how much they had improved on the
Year before and raised the bar even further.
Sure they had setbacks but they set the bar high,
Only taking notice of what the rest of the world was doing
When a bar somewhere was set higher,
Then the bar would be raised to the higher level,
Though never was the bar lowered to standards set elsewhere.
Then one day things began to change,
As the land that had disappeared under the radar,
Once more appeared out of the mist
And caught the attention of a world that was in awe of
How high they had raised their bar.
And as they flocked to in to see for themselves just how high the bar could go,
They were not shy in turning their awe into praise.
At first shoulders were shrugged and the movement of the bar was unaffected,
Until the flattery that had before arrived as a trickle became a river
And the vanity of the locals rose to match that flow.
From there it was all downhill as the locals for the first time in living memory,
Started resting on their laurels,
And the bar began to wobble,
Before falling a notch or two.
Still, there was no need for concern,
After all the bar was set higher than in other lands.
As those who came from them were quick to point out.
And anyway the locals were now too busy building their own vanity units,
To wonder how low the the bar needed to go,
Before the rest of the world stopped singing their praises and
Started saying we told you so.
And lost interest in the land of milk and honey,
At the bottom of the world,
Populated by Kiwis who for a while were sitting at the top of the tree,
With the eagles and who had taught the rest of the world
To soar to new heights.
Oh if you who came to their shores in awe,
Had only taken note and chosen a different song to sing to the locals,
How much sweeter could the milk and honey have been,
With the bar raised high enough to be seen from Mars.
For many years, the creek, ran passed as a drain,
Polluted and unloved; a poisoned murky vein.
A favoured dumping place, for household unwanted things -
out of sight, out of mind; and no good what it brings.
Life was almost non-existent in the creek
and weed infestation makes it sad and bleak,
but turning a blind eye has gone too long,
and allowing this pollution was so wrong.
So, ‘friends of wattle creek’ were duly formed
and at meetings their ideas quickly warmed,
with working bees to help remove the mess,
and from there, reclamation could progress.
Weeds became victims, of mattock and the hoe;
there’s room for native vegetation to regrow.
Five hundred seedlings were there every week,
and planted by the ‘friends of wattle creek.’
Through the years, there were many setbacks,
from mother nature and her natural attacks,
with flood and storms or sometimes howling gales –
and thankfully, it was just the weak that fails.
With the foliage and the flowers an attraction
for lorikeet and honeyeater squabbling action;
weebills and pardalotes, were giving lots of cheek,
to warm the hearts of ‘friends of wattle creek.’
Undergrowth is cover for the wary bandicoot,
and the sugar glider dines on native fruit.
In the shallows of the creek; water is now clean;
once again, a spiny crayfish can be seen.
In a few short years, the volunteers with vision,
turned away an eyesore, with a right decision,
now it’s paradise restored from something bleak,
and all thanks goes to the ‘friends of wattle creek.’
The health of wattle creek is quite amazing,
and ‘friends of wattle creek’ deserve the praising.
Native fish are thriving; bird numbers are on track;
it warms the heart to know – the platypus is back.
For many years, the creek, ran passed as a drain,
Polluted and unloved; a poisoned murky vein,
but is now a thriving green belt, captivating all,
and the ‘friends of wattle creek’ are standing tall.
More than eleven thousand days have passed since I started this voyage.
Laughters, anguish, challenges, setbacks, achievements;
These shaped me into who I am presently
Resilient. Strong. Persistent. Empowered.
Life's roller coaster made me realize a lot of things paradoxically
That people will only be there for you as long as you are beneficial to them
That everything changes, even the so-called eternity is merely superficial.
That trying to fit into somebody else's world is a big no-no
Because you yourself has an own world waiting to be built and to ameliorate
That being quixotic is not okay- foolishly impractical-
Especially in the pursuit of your own worth as a human being and the essence of your existence
That in life, you will be surrounded by lofty individuals-
Insulting and questioning your own capabilities in haughty manners
That discouragement is an everyday thing if you will allow them to get in
I realized I should not be enervated
Overbearance, dominance, supremacy- ignore them all.
Truth is, you are the anchor of your own ship
It's you who will decide whether to be miserable or to be cheerful
Life's a maze with detours and crossroads, sometimes you get lost
You'll come across paths with invisible tracks- completely oblivious
But do not ever despair- make or choose your own path
Even at times you have to decide whether to take the road to the left or to the right
Honestly, I took the road to the left only to find out there's nothing right
I ventured out to the right track only to find out there's nothing left for me
Nevertheless, I continued traversing the unfamiliar routes- come what may.
Rest if you're tired. Stand up if you fall down. Cry if you're sad. Scream if you want to.
Listen to me, you have the sole power over your whole journey-make the most out of it.
Think about it. Do what makes you happy. Choose who makes you feel blissful.
Because life is a sojourn- a temporary stay.