Long Simpletons Poems
Long Simpletons Poems. Below are the most popular long Simpletons by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Simpletons poems by poem length and keyword.
It's a groovy morning
in a simpletons ecstasy
the rushing
sea and waves
and my appalling vessel
what is my source
a zephyr
oh my anxiety
what's the scene
of the weak spot
obviate
strangulation
everyone should be
provided shelter for
and you as well
with me
stay
Written: May 22, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
Our father who art in Heaven
Hallowed be thy name …
Please grant us the attainment of world peace
Please take the homeless ones off the streets
May men and women have plenty apiece
Children, their fair share of peanuts and sweets
May sickness be far from me, mine, hers and his
May good health be in abundance
May beautiful flowers and majestic trees
Create atmospheres for the sun’s dance
Keep famine and pestilence away
Let our barns and silos be full in stock
Keep hunger and starvation at bay
Make our aged as strong as a rock
May ours be an egalitarian society
Where everyone has the means to their ends
May ours be a classless economy
On which profit per person’s desire depends
May our roads be free of accidents
Our earth from natural disasters
May our vehicles get no scratches and dents
That they may gleam under the light of the stars
Keep our r0ads free from hazards
The streets, safe and secure from hoodlums
May we never encounter witches nor wizards
Who’ll, from our farms, steal berries and plums
May we all get passes to the gates of Heaven
Regardless of multiplicity of religions
That all may attain the perfection of seven
And be one with the angels and legions
Amen…
Why are poems such dissapoint now days
So many simple words too many simple man
Please try harder or is this the best all you can do, this is why this world is hungry for truth
Nobody wants to really go any deeper
Simple stupid all these grave sights where all these simpletons go to rest, can someone please try to write just one sentence that will make me think does poetry even exist.
So much garbage and not enough real heart
Dont waste my time and tell me how to write
Your insecurities are killing all of us now
Again i beg you all please give me some heart
Give me something real i want to bleed
When i read i want to take a breath and know
I would take the next too after you you fool.
Enough of this paid passes into gates of shame
Your money is good here your wins are lonely
I cant suck up just for fame i got whats called real pain deep down i can destroy you and you know it so stop running just write a poem it is just that simple.
My food is simple, unlike my music
Most of the time I spend in excellent company
My muse is unobtrusive and only appears with dessert
If I were vain, I would compare my work
To the labour of Sisyphus, but incidentally, I don't consider it meaningless:
I see more meaning in the fall of a boulder than, for example,
In the jumps of parachutists who risk getting tangled in their straps
But vanity is infinitely inventive, I like to observe
The tricks of the psyche that justify these pleasures
My music seems abstract, although it is merely
Autobiographical, and therefore translatable into the language of emotions,
At least in allusive episodes
Although I am not inclined to reproduce ready-made formulas
To serve as a worn-out armchair for the audience
I am for leaving the comfort zone for the zone of sadness
The zone of rhetoric of deliberate inconveniences, where I am like a fish in water
I ask questions and answer them myself, or
I simply ignore myself, thereby mocking my
Scattered plebeian curiosity.
If the crowd listened to my ellipses and exclamations,
My falling cupboards and jokes at funerals
Would be appreciated and supported,
And I would be recognised as a genius, for which, of course,
I would apologise to the crowd, even though their romantic ideals
Are utterly nauseating, but well paid.
But the number of simpletons is truly infinite
It is inversely proportional to the number of geniuses
Cynics write music for the crowd
Something like Yesterday and Candle on the Wind
And my indulgent attention goes unnoticed
My subtle jokes do not elicit smiles
And therein lies my happiness as an avant-gardist
Success would destroy me, but the indifference of the noosphere
Prolongs my life, which I pay for
With my music of spheres, squares and tendons.
President Olusegun Obasanjo- Atiku Abubakar
Promises of pardoned traitors
Reek like ancient regrets.
Exhibitions,
Steeped in rapacity.
Inured to light, they
Dominate blindly
Evoking the same air of oppression
Noteworthy of the days of yore.
Traitors in transit, trampling as they go.
Over us, they bellow.
Lording it, they rule
Under the guise of foreign dogmas,
Silence all demanding.
Egocentric beasts with rotund bellies
Gloats with our reserves.
Unaffected by the groaning of a people
Nestled in penury.
Our Overseers,
Behemoths, disguised,
Assiduously make us the
Shame of the whole world while
At perfect ease with themselves.
Neglecting the many sufferers about, they
Jostle for private vaults in Zurich as
Our poverty became their riches.
And the bespectacled gargoyle
Trenched in the prison called Rock.
Impervious to all wisdom,
Kept an unholy vigil as
Undertakers beckoned suddenly.
Archetypical simpletons, they
Bask in gaudy wealth
Untouched by the miseries surrounding them
Building high walls to keep prying eyes away.
Atop Hills, perched like Vultures,
Kleptocrat searching for new honour.
Aglow in oily garbs, they
Regale themselves, as the world looks on in amazement!
The fuel, fury and addiction,
stupendous depiction.
I’m magnetized; my nose buried
in vellum sheets. Varied,
the construct of complicated
simpletons located
on cliffs, near harbors, with their ghosts;
misdirecting guideposts.
The injection of crafty twists;
flying ink insists
you sink deeper into its thick.
The turn of pages, a joystick.
Wanting to finish the story;
feeling’s transitory.
Compose a series, Author, please!
Your book ended with tease.
I’ll have eyes on antagonist,
tea with protagonist,
follow breadcrumbs and red herring,
and choose to be daring.
T h e E n d
"I wandered lonely as a cloud" -- William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a life
bereft of joy by reason’s cloud
to sling invective like a scythe
from perched on high, lofty and proud.
Naught from my lips but bile and scorn,
delight extinguished, long since shorn.
Imprisoned by my intellect,
I held my neighbor in disdain,
the simpletons who genuflect,
lift voice in praise to gods inane.
Devoid of purpose, meaningless,
inflicting pain, I caused distress.
Ensconced in fog, truth thus eludes,
for nothing blinds like one’s own will,
prolongs the moral turpitude,
bolstering self yet further still.
The darkness bears an evil grin,
a putrid corpse, lest dawn breaks in.
But worlds come crashing down, of course.
A penetrating shaft of light
that sears at first, causes remorse,
illumines one’s desperate plight.
A warmth then flushes on the face
by blood reborn, restored by grace.
----------
for the I Wandered Lonely as --- Challenge Poetry Contest
sponsored by Natasha L Scragg
written on 09/18/2022
We gasp as our hostess enters the garden.
All of us women wearing glorious colors, trying for attention.
She has, of course, worn the ultimate dress
Which instantly brings lilies and carnations to fruition.
We ordinary simpletons are dressed like rainbows
Dismally paling against marigolds and roses
Which also sense that an angel has entered the arena
Our oranges, pinks and reds are not contenders for attention now.
She has sauntered in as if straight from heaven’s gates.
She is glistening without trying; her caramel skin is popping.
Her brown eyes are exceptional, and her white dress virginal.
Reminding Lily of the Valley she is queen of the garden.
The rest of us fade away amongst flowers that smirk.
No contenders for attention or conversation.
A garden party for forty, where all eyes stray to one.
She is the bride; we are mere spectators.
The 6th and 9th have come and gone though none have taken note
that faraway, on those two days, an instant blazing blast
had vaporized morality. A bygone anecdote?
It seems such tales are best forgot and buried in the past.
But nonetheless, one must confess, the odds are highest now
that might and means have globalized the final battle field,
such that the victors also lose and perish anyhow.
The rulers in their zeal decide these facts be best concealed.
The warriors bit by bit rearm, their foes to nullify,
with strategies for victories where winners will prevail,
rejecting thoughts of compromise (though nukes are standing by!).
Yet still its grimly obvious that all will finally fail.
Beware you wide-eyed simpletons that follow, with the herd,
the drumbeat of the profiteers that draws us down this path
with prophesies of glory days and other things absurd.
Instead the skies above will burn, the only aftermath.
"Tour of Duty"
go forth and conquer
go forth and multiply
we are taught like
good little madams,
it’s fed to us right
(not left) from the get go
down our throats,
it’s ingrained
in the majority of us,
then, rank and file,
off we go, deligently
we march towards
that evocative thing promised,
Love calls us keenly,
Love calls us softly,
Love like communion,
green gardens wild daisies
crowns worn like halos,
loves me, loves me not,
loves me not, loves me,
planted and naively bedded,
we dance that dance,
into the seductive arms
of faith and chance, a wanton war
romancing our womanhood,
we roll over like puppies
our upturned faces
and stomachs stroked,
being fed red apples
like simpletons in a
moist ripe bed of roses,
sprinkled with the holy water
of keeping the win for keepsakes
framed and parked on a wall
like stag horns, momentos
of a past well worn,
our competitive
strip poker smiling faces
the blue ribbons adorned
and mounted like
miss congeniality,
good girls
wagging tails,
then feeding
children spoonfuls
of honey,
to do it all
over again
obedience
only lasts so
long
so long
tours of duties
so long
good girls
take notes
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)