Long Should know better Poems
Long Should know better Poems. Below are the most popular long Should know better by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Should know better poems by poem length and keyword.
I'm not over you.
My heart is still on the mend.
But you've forgotten me, until you're lonely once again.
I need someone new.
Someone who cares only for me.
But I get lonely too, and I can't hold your memory.
I give in again.
When you come knocking on my door.
I know better than to think you're different than you were before.
But I can't close my eyes
'Cause when I do your face I see.
No, I'm not over you, and I can't hold your memory.
I'm alone again.
I swear this time will be the last.
But next time you come around, I'll give in like in the past.
I should know better now
You've made it very plain to see.
But I'm not over you, and I can't hold your memory.
Have Gum; Will Not Travel
Forget it! I am not going five thousand miles just
To be bored and homesick. No.
And what am I supposed to do there, besides go broke?
What am I supposed to be looking at anyway?
Why must I take another banal photo at the Eiffel Tower,
With stupid me jumping into the air there like some fool
Who should know better? Paris is filthy! And everyone is mean.
Just like the people and places back home. No! I will not
Spend ten hours on a cramped jet filled with sneezing nostrils,
One or two of which could be terrorists just waiting to strike,
Ready to hijack the plane and drive it murderously into
something made of indestructible steel,
While my nervous stomach knots up with gaseous explosions,
Ready to strike the air at any moment,
worst than any terrorist contraption imaginable.
No! Forget it. Why would I want to travel to some other country,
Just to be constantly miserable and exhausted all the time?
“Okay, there is Westminster Abbey, and oh,
there’s the Thames River floating on by!
Wow! Now what do we do? Should we get a bite to eat?
And then maybe go back to the hotel and sleep? I am dead!”
Then early the next day we must catch a cramped train to Rome,
Where the people are crazy, just like the people back home,
“Okay, this is gnarly.”
My diarrhea is a cross between black oil and kerosene.
Why am I taking this picture,
another typical shot in front of the Leaning Tower?
Am I doing this to put on social media to show my phony friends
What a fabulous time I am having?!
Why of course. I didn’t spend thousands of dollars,
and endure all this misery,
Not to show off my wonderful times in Europe;
Truly a status symbol I treasure with all my heart,
But detested with all my soul in acquiring it.
They are giving those fake smiles to each other
I will have none of that
Introductions are made
I slide off into a corner, and take out my notebook
People should know better than to hound me about this crap
I am comfortable now, writing my third poem
“Are you writing?” I do not look up. This usually gets rid of them.
This one gets closer to my face. I jump, startled.
Glare at him. He laughs.
What is wrong with you? I ask. Go away!
I thought you were here to party, he tells me.
He knows better. He knows I hate people.
I stick out my tongue at him and give him the bird.
This should give his co-workers something to think about.
“Who is that?” Someone asks him.
I do not hear him say “that’s my wife” and I don’t care either.
He knows I hate socializing.
Lemmings’ Cliff Run
by Odin Roark
Might it be
We are naively gullible
Believing like the Lemmings
From the ocean-cliff’s edge
Down below looks like a lake
So it must be a lake
Even though our species
Should know better
Could it be
We abandon
Those extra synaptic gifts
Deceive ourselves
Take the leap
Find we can survive the jump
But the endless “lake”
Like to the lemmings
Has no opposite shoreline
Within eyesight
And like the lemmings
Struggle concedes to
Physical and mental fatigue
Delivers exhausted neurons
Into blissful compliance
Such might be
The place where
Credit card inebriation
Staggers us into the “lake”
Only to find we’ve extended
Beyond our means
No shoreline in view
Sadly
Many might survive their “ocean”
Until they are but floating bodies
Bobbing with the waves of commerce know-how
As it pushes the tide
Back to the shore
Ready to lure
Fresh
Delusional
Lemming-headed targets
Awaiting atop cliff’s edge
Staring into that intoxicating money-colored
Blue/green color we’ve grown to glamorize
Fantasize
And worship
Thinking it will always be there
Until it's not
Nature’s perfection
Transparency’s metaphor
Seldom perceived
Often ignored
Judy, Judy, Judy
Thoughts of – thinking, I have to wonder ?
Time is slowly slipping – empty of – away.
Turning moments, lost – into hours- many a day.
Lost forever – only thoughts of what might be, stay
with this one, who had – once upon a time – only to pray
for all that he desired and desired to see
become part of what he wanted – wanted to be.
A cool wind of enlightenment, blows from a silent mouth.
No warm breeze will I come to know, from the south.
For the barrenness of silence is all that I get to hear
as I wait for a sign, a word, feelings that I fear
are not meant to come my way – for me to be had.
All these thoughts, questions, feelings do make me sad.
I should know better, no fool – they say – like an old fool.
B. J. “A ” 2
May 13th 2005
Battle of the Sexes
A Collaboration Between: Pandita Sanchez and Eric L. Boddie
As beautiful and smart as you are,
you always seem to take it too far.
I know some of it is just;
but there is still so much that never needed to be discussed.
It could be that you too often misunderstand me,
overcomplicating and seeing life differently.
They say men are from Mars and women from Venus,
so things will never be simplified between us.
Tell me, what am I to think -
I mean, your mood changes within a blink;
so much emotion can sometimes get in the way,
you like pushing buttons - what's that shade of gray?
One minute you say that I’m too emotional;
then when I prove to be your equal, you call me irrational.
Is it just that I’m way too much woman for you?
And, perhaps, you really don’t have a clue?
There you go again thinking you are all that;
that's the reason we are always off track.
I love everything about you, but I tire of the stress;
and I can't calm you down unless I get you undressed.
See that's exactly what I'm talking about -
resorting to caveman tactics makes you believe you have clout;
but you're no longer a boy, so you should know better, Boo,
you're wearing me out with your commitment issue.
You see, I just can't ever win.
So don't stand there trying to pretend
like you are faultless in all of this;
but the blame always hits me - it has never missed.
While I admit that I’m not totally blameless,
I’ve been the one who‘s always willing to do more while you do less.
In fact, like Rodin’s ‘Thinker’ you just brood over our problems;
but I’m the mover and shaker who actually tries to solve them.
You know what? I am done with all this…
I mean, you know I am addicted to your sweet kiss
which, consequently, makes arguments hard to resist,
all because there is not a feature about you I want to miss.
So please just let me say -
the indifferences need to end, and let's start anew today.
Well we don’t need to be arguing all the time sinking into quicksand,
if like two adults, we address concerns before they get out of hand.
But in spite of what our differences may be,
I know we love each other to the nth degree;
and in the end, we know we’re worth it, and we’ll see,
man and woman, we can work it out together, Baby, you and me.
Arhinio the Highland Hussy, is a story about a tribe of woman who were
exiled from the Tribe of Tithious in the land of Srimadd, in the land of
Edenusfarr. They worshiped the Evil Goddess Unsharer, who forbade the women to marry men. Yet they could have male friends who were allowed to pay for favors. BBifer was the Queen-Hussy of Meaniest, who would allow these Broads to bare children, but couldn't marry, because the books of Frownbouis forbade it. Doltrime, was said to be the prettiest, she was allowed to smile and tease her male friends, Arilfo was the ugliest she had to submit to the first man who spoke, yet she was forbidden to marry. Thw high-queen,Longtouge, the Spearer, gave word to the kro-kro men of the Neitherworld, those who had many children, could have more and marry the whores, but the fairling and beautiful people were subject to scripts, were they were allowed to be pimped, by different names, if the woman, was pretty she could receive money from a member of her customers club, to receive payment for womanly chores. Askpikeheadrub, was away to show aprecation so this was taxed by the Hussywomen.
y
g
y
z
y
S Sizzling Sol:
heartthrob of the
starlets
each wants him to
shine on only her
young Luna
waxes
poetic
hoping
to win him
but Terra,
who should know better
is blue-green with envy
at being thus eclipsed
[yalto form]
// Syzygy: The nearly straight-line configuration of three
or more celestial bodies (as the sun, moon
and earth during a solar or lunar eclipse) //
January has pocketed frosted dreams
Firmly tucked away, hidden under her black ice
Her treacherous blizzards torment the foolhardy
Many driving too fast on her hills should know better
In a heavily prayer-scented car
A risk-taking older cigar-smoking woman twirls around on the ice
Finally landing with a splat, slamming into a steel embankment
Her days on earth over now
bitterer than any rejected suiter, the incredible storm picks up
The woman's Ford is covered in mounds of wet heavy snow
This is a desolate road, people do not see the wreck for hours
Nine One One is called, but it is too late.
This smoke has words that escape me actually
The EMT says, as he reaches the scene
I see no smoke, his unaware partner replies
Not seeing the haze that is taking the lady’s soul to heaven
Water and sand, two God-made items that intrigue a 4-year-old like nothing else can.
I am grand parenting a happy boy who is completely mesmerized by these two items today.
He is pouring, burying, scooping, digging, piling, showing off, and laughing.
We are at the sand pile, a place I have been trying to coax him to for twenty minutes.
I should know better. He is four. Everything has to be his own idea.
Painting, coloring, play dough and toys are a much larger mess, and they rarely keep his interest
As long as I spend taking them out, and cleaning them up.
Best of all, I am sitting in God’s world, a gentle breeze lulling me with a sense of beauty and peace.
I never feel this good anywhere other than outside, among the glittering trees and gentle grass.
My shoes are off, and I am enjoying the remembering of my own summer hood, spent mostly outside.
My daughter will be along shortly, to snatch him up, and thank me, making me feel guilty.
It is me who should be doing the thanking. The wind rises, and the child laughs, bringing the best of the best to my own sweet world.
I live for these days. Pure joy.