Long Snobs Poems
Long Snobs Poems. Below are the most popular long Snobs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Snobs poems by poem length and keyword.
Slavery is not the end of atrocities
Suffered by minority communities
The every day systematic sway
Of bricks piled against you like
A wall of pain
So many bricks
The millions murdered for simply being
Who they were born to be black brown red
But of these I speak of what I know firsthand
The professional personal political assassination
of the collective black character is so deep
It is astonishing ingrained and denied to be a thing
For instance because there was a black president
In this racist country people say there you have equality
Nope
A system built on the back of blacks
That promotes hate of anything black
Saving a few teachers pets
Does not save the souls of those
Still being oppressed stressed and put to death
Schools are the battleground as well
We are not even teaching the truth freely
Jim Crow is alive and well look it up
The systems of government are used and abused
To keep people from getting the American Dream
The poor displaced and disgraced
Taxed to the max
While the rich enjoy perks less tax relax
When I walk in a store I am sized up and categorized
followed by security I may get service
But only if I look affluent enough and
Sometimes not even then
Depending on the store and area
When my brother walks down the street
Do you clutch your purse
No really
If he doesn’t style himself just so
Is he perceived as less than
When he goes to the bank for a loan
How often will he be denied
Or unfairly penalized
It’s deeper than slavery
We are still here suffering despite being
Called American we are treated
Not even as well as foreigners
Who seek asylum
Where is that for the brown red black people
It’s not being able to fairly compete for jobs
When corporate snobs want degrees and experience
But how do you get one before the other
When you don’t qualify for loans
Or go in so much debt for college
That the dream is deferred
Or you get the job but the pay
Is poor because you can’t afford the degree
Never mind you are doing the job perfectly
So you must get multiple jobs to eat
I’m so sick of saying that marginalized
Systematic racism in America is more than what happened then it is what is happening today now
And by the looks of it what the future holds
As the systems of old have not been replaced!
I must’ve went wrong somewhere,
Becoming too much to bare,
Everything’s been lost,
My soul was the cost.
This mess burnt up my last shred of sanity,
I long for it to be cleaned,
There’s only one I trust,
Longing change before I bust,
Now all I can think is what is wrong,
With people, with me, the world? It’s been so long.
Since everything was okay,
Since you didn’t stay.
Lonely wasn’t thought,
Questioning everything I’ve fought.
Without hope and care,
Standing in front of the mirror,
This just can’t be fair.
Why does it have to be so hard?
If you look at it optmisticly, it’ll just be another scar.
Too bad my optimism has run out,
Nothing else to care about.
And then I laugh.
I’m tired of listening,
I’m tired of getting hit on,
I’m tired of the snobs getting in my way.
Of the bastards taking everything away.
Now I can feel it rising,
I see my vision blurring,
I burn another leaf,
While my thoughts are stirring.
It’s clear now though,
Only one answer that’s true,
Beating someone’s face until it’s black and blue.
It’s no longer feeling any stranger,
To let loose of this anger.
These maggots are finally going to get what’s coming to them,
At one point,
I was hoping that this isn’t how it would end.
Now I want to embrace it,
Make the most of it,
I enjoy every damn second of it.
Now when some drama starting, waste of skin,
Throws one of their fits,
I’m gonna make sure their mouth is shut for good, I’ll see to it.
Looking back on the lower ground I once stood.
When that cheating fake, or big disgrace screws something up for me,
I won’t waste anytime before making them bleed.
That self medicating,
Child Molesting,
Animal abusing,
Piece of meat, is going to regret,
Blocking my road,
I’ll be someone they’d wish they’d never met.
They don’t understand,
I don’t care who they are,
Or if someone took their land,
Or came and repoed their car.
If the banks collected their home,
Only thing I care about now,
Isn’t getting stoned,
It’s not searching my phone,
Not hearing another teenager moan,
Can’t you see?
All the simple pleasures mean nothing to me.
So you better start getting read to flee,
Lock the back door, and swallow the key.
Angers infesting me, turning towards insanity,
The only thing left I care about… Is Me.
An Unwelcome Surprise at the Family Reunion
By Elton Camp
“We certainly do hope that all his descendents will choose
To attend the reunion of the family of Grandfather Hughes.”
The newspaper announced the gathering’s time & location
To recall and praise a man so distinguished, with admiration
Grandfather has been a prominent and wealthy physician
Who had all that was expected of a man in his position
He and Grandmother resided in a most imposing estate
They were tended by maids, butlers and servants galore
For an honored ancestor they couldn’t really ask for more
But I must admit that most relatives looked down their nose
At those who didn’t have, as a noble ancestor, one of those
For snobs to say, “Of course you know that I am a Hughes”
Was a request for deference that very few would dare refuse
The family gathering began in the ballroom of the finest hotel
Men with tuxes and women in long dresses, looking so swell
All, their professions, wealth and accomplishments did mention
To inspire jealously with pretentiousness was their intention
At that moment, a family of blacks walked through the door
Their very presence the Hughes family did quite openly abhor
“It is obvious that you people made a mistake in coming here.
The service entrance for menial hotel workers is in the rear.”
“You mean this here ain’t the Hughes family’s big meeting?
I thought it was high time that my relatives I was greeting.”
Through the room gasps and expressions of outrage spread
Two fine ladies fainted away almost as if they were dead
The oldest Hughes came over and quietly grasped his arm
“Let me show you out so that the reunion you don’t alarm.
Your mistake is natural and it’s not any cause for blame.
Many unrelated people actually will share the same name.”
“No, no this is the place I meant to come I definitely know.”
The black man then extended his hand and called him “bro”
“You are mistaken man, for it is clear that you are a spade.”
“Only partly, bro. My father was from Mr. Hughes’ maid.”
Because of that, the reunion was never held any more
The Hughes clan felt it couldn’t be as it had been before
Bigotry was proved stronger than family ties that way
At least that is what all others in town did laugh and say
Arduous agonizing affliction
doth unrelentingly assail...
aghast to exhale lest...lose
desperate clinging clutch
held by bloodied cracked fingernail
phantasmagoric tendrils constrict
stoppering me to whisper or wail
yawning abyss menacingly beseeches
hmm...release could immediately curtail
cumulative (lifetime's worth) travail
freefalling, pirouetting unnervingly,
unstoppably, unwaveringly... zipping
into infinite black hell hole ail
mince vanish as doth guilt - a hail
storm peppering psyche... jail
time for eternity excluded option
asper garden variety baby boomer male,
albeit the father of deux darling daughters,
the eldest (broke vow of silent communication),
she reached out after months long hiatus telltale
indications to accept genuine apology
her papa (me) rages against hurtfulness, he
affixed indelible psychological scars each travail
boomeranged backed to yours truly duress
during her impressionable years, she did rail
and rant previous conversation, the scale
innocent intelligent progeny, we begat
(myself and misses) financially ill prepared
to provide respectable accommodations
"dirt poor" status detrimental
with affluent MainLine
incomes luxe Lower Merion
living costs fateful design
neighbors cursed, ostracized, vilified...
unsightly unkempt property (i.e. unmanicured)
intolerant snobs didst malign
child welfare services called NOT to dine
but emphatic for papa and mama to align
dwelling safe and secure for minors
yes, I attest despicable living conditions
crowded house with Zison heirlooms
owners - malignant hoarders did confine
considerably reducing cubic feet,
they relations of spouse evicted us
ready to point carbine
at temple...quicker than noose
dead of winter 2010 near homelessness
relocated within "roach motel" decline
among our dynamics with offspring
livid with rage, asper an inferno no divine
comedy compounded by lascivious
behaviour - mine to hasten dateline
enduring helplessness, hardship
being alive plus brandishing knife
against self witnessed...I assign
poor marks as paternal parent,
who bemoans loathsome
impact...this papa gropes toward hotline!
A Trip to the Opera
By Elton Camp
According to what I very often hear related,
Opera you should attend to be sophisticated
Just the same, it’s nothing I’ve known about
But I finally decided I would give it a tryout
How much different from a movie could it be
So I picked out one at random that I’d go to see
The very first thing that caused me some dismay
Was how much for the ticket I was forced to pay
I decided to go early so it’d be easy to find my seat
And what a bunch of snobs there were to meet
I figured tank top and shorts would be a disgrace
But you should see how they dressed at that place
Man with tux and woman dressed in a long grown
In my suit, uneasily it was that I looked around
Except for being old folks, I’d think they come from
Dancing at the very most fancy high school prom
I went in and found my seat to keep out of the way
As others came in, I listened to what they had to say
They spoke of libretto, aria, cadenza, and verismo
I hadn’t any idea what those words meant, though
But finally the curtain went up and the opera underway
Then I found I couldn’t understand a word they say
It seemed like some foreign language they were using
Ones who speak English they should’ve been choosing
Other folks there seemed to thing that it was just fine
But I wondered why they had to sing every single line
Not that I had anything against hearing a good song
But hours and hours of it was, for me, much too long
The story they were telling seemed awful complicated
That I had spent my money to come I certainly hated
And I wished that I’d eaten supper before I went there
But none of the others about any food seemed to care
I began to wonder when there would be an intermission
I need to go to the restroom, but did I need permission?
Finally I decided that about going I no longer could stall
Then found the restroom line extended plum to the wall
When the opera was finally over I’ll admit that I was glad
Because I never had expected it to be anything like that bad
I guess it’s because I’m a country hick brought up in the hills
But I sure found that going to the opera didn’t give me thrills
It’s so difficult to sustain the life
in this senseless-tiresome-dry world,
and that’s why I decided to fool the world to ease my life.
I took my head out of my shoulders and put it on the road
the very spot where I decided to beguile the others;
the way was happened to be a moderately sloped downward road
and that’s why my conscience rolling downward with very little or
no effort at all.
For I was moving forward without any hindering object or resistance
it became monotonous; I felt like play a prank for some fan,
so I bounced up and down, danced around here and there,
but it didn’t do any good because these were another dull
and slothful recurring motions. I closed my eyes being languid.
On the way I saw the snobs, who impudently
insist upon themselves are the microcosm,
arguing each other wearing the ridiculously ugly masks,
“my territory has to be greater than yours.”
Because of those ridiculous masks
finger point one another with infuriated yelling
I opened the eyes terrifying. As I woke,
I saw a giant standing before me holding an apple
in his hand staring at me; and ridiculous masks carry the explosive.
Who is this giant? And what is the explosive? I tried to
move forward again after gave a moment of thought;
but this time, I was trapped in the midst of a battle field
where a rusted lump of heavy iron moves back and forth
on a double-headed serpent’s back, throwing flames from its mouth.
I gave up moving forward thinking,
though it may not be the place to dwell,
here is the place where I have to take a root;
after rooted, the gray hairs grew to the limbs
and branches of a dead tree, and bear the leaves
and flowers, and some of them fell on the ground blown by the wind,
then the rolling leaves on the ground
become stones and road side footmarks.
When colorless paper flakes
bleach the road side footmarks,
they turn into the scentless petals
and cover the crushed masks lying here and there;
though these distorted masks didn’t say a word
a goldsmith comes in the evenfall displaying proudly,
sprinkles the gold dust tinted with the reddened glow.
Losing with Grace.....
Baseball players know how to play
their game and move on.
When they lose, they lose.
They don't talk of collusion, or who
stole bases and worse..
To call in the Fed to play the game of Farcical Illusions,
They move on to the next game.
It is not a federal crime.
The players need to go to DC and explain this plain fact to
some of our elected dummies.
To the overpaid ,selfish snobs of
this country.
I do mean only those sitting on their
arses for 40 years.
No, sorry, we all need to ask God,
A better question.
Is it OK to steal from men who work,
that their well earned money must
go to the poor.
America is far from third world nation,
We don't need a Robin Hood to run
this country.
America will not be a socialist nation.
Nor do we need a panel of angry fools,
To paint Americans as Foolish ghouls.
Take a poor person into your house, why
don't you?
Offer them your soap, your towels and
the use of your food, money and home.
To me, that's real Christianity.
In CA, people live on the streets on
purpose, it's far more money for them
that way.
Plus welfare, Snap cards and free health
care, too.
And selling dope behind McDonald's too.
Poor?? My rear!
Not to mention the monies collected,
on which no taxes will they pay.
People know how to play the poor game
here, remarkably, too well.
It's called, "Beating the system."
In the USA today there are more jobs
than people.
Yet, people choose to live in tents, it's
cheap and easier than work.
Let the other Americans, go make
money ~ the jerks!
The poor here do know it's sheer honey.
In my city, there's a homeless man on
a horse.
Any rational being can figure out what
it costs to feed a horse.
One can't be poor and provide adequate
health care,for an animal and himself
I feel sorry for that horse living outside.
His master is not sick nor old nor poor.
And I don't live in a crumbling town
in a third world nation.
Just people living on chosen, victim hood,
Eternal, extended....juvenile vacations.
Panagiota Romios
April 23,2019
1:45pm PST
The blind leading the blind, what is seen is how its heard
the thoughts that make the story are lost behind the words
do you see it as you view it, or take a deeper look
do you read into the narrative or judge the cover of the book
Is the figure cold and dirty, the shell of what he's made
or the unforgiven soul, that is waiting to be saved
does that body clad so poorly hold more than what is shown
or just another mannequin, that has reaped just what was sown
Did you spare a dollar this morning or was your vision blind
or was that lonesome beggar just in the shadows of your mind
you see that youth with his hooded clothes and jeans hung round his waist
could he be a high school scholar or does his style not suit your taste
That girl there, with the pushchair, yes she has a name
does she love the child she carried, or did she play a foolish game
And that solemn face behind the bars,the prisoner to his crime
Or the broken life held captive and the victim of a lie
That woman in the wheelchair, animated by expression
does she really have no hopes and dreams or are you too deaf to listen
that classy car, the modest tie, the briefcase at his side
is there a dark deceitful truth, buried deep beneath his pride
no life ahead with a dead end job, shoveling gruel from a grease filled tray
or the maturing child of a broken home, paying bills 'mum' couldn't pay
two babies need to find new homes, is it proof she couldn't cope
or could she not make the perfect life so instead she gave them hope
So they live on a rough estate, they're deviant thieving 'yobs'
and see their buttoned shirts and ties, they're private school 'snobs'
do you just see flecks of peeling paint, view this canvas as a whole
or define each stroke of the artists brush that reach right to the soul
If opportunity played a fairer game and made judgement realise
then possibility could do its part, allow wisdom to remove disguise
yet with judgement passed and truth unseen, realisation is unable
to protect our children and ourselves 'living under the weight of a label'
Take it away
Right now—see here…look here
Run into the light where one shadow casts an intent, lowly eye
Into the very heart of the storm, the words fall with might
You see a word and take sail as doubt and understanding foretell
A heartfelt message meant to destroy all that behold
Look here!
Crush the thoughts that bind you
The past that releases shards….murders of ravens
Pecking infidelity into your weakened visions
Forcing you to turn the other way and not listen
NOT listen
To the sounds of vibrant declaration driven from the blood of the lost
To the taste of defeat lathered in pride for the slowly dying sun
To the pinch of the skin upon the tethered limbs
Squeezing the wrists holding the ink
Releasing…releasing
The very blood that drives it!
That mind—how burdensome to the mass!
Crawling about for purpose
Searching—the best for last!
Firing squad!
Gone—
Sniveling snobs of insipient tact—obsessed with some artillery pact
Marveling at what sophisticated solidity can do to drive down a life
Move a herd of scared animals across a wasteland desired
Bile like the water source held back for the more important
Sniveling sad, chauvinist snouts tracing the secular age of rot
Eating everything they got
Wishing for what the sad ones hold on to
The only thing that keeps that eye dry
Take it away and words go awry
In chaotic monotony
Barging in matrimony
Forcing the impaired to repair
Kindling a fire already put out by your thoughtless glare
Curse this burdensome mind of the masses!
Curse the unpainted lines that omit from my very lips!
As I read every scourging fire bolt out
All one sees is the words protruding out
From a heart so bitter by bitter alone
Trusting in the meter, the rhyme, the tone!
I left the earth too far to return!
Fresh! Lowly, but fresh!
Immanent in high regard TO THE OPPRESSED
Take it away
Right now—see here…look here
Run into the light where one shadow casts an intent, lowly eye
Into the very heart of the storm, the words fall with might
A burdened firing squad faced a mirror
And shot blindly
Through fear
OF ROY AND PINCH BANDITS
Claims Roy one day
to have been approached
by an angel of GOD
alleges the said angel
brought him news
news that he would pass to glory
complete with day and time...
Come the day... Roy
arranges meeting with cece..
.. his beloved siz..
Roy unable to confess..to cece..
the truth.. bout his departure
ROY goes to university next..
bids friends goodbye...
Roy goes to a stall
buys daughter five tuna fish cans..
a parting gift from a loving ROY...
Roy boards shuttle..
Roy sits next to lovely..
very lovely ladies....
Roy never one to let a pretty girl
escape untalked... says hello
girl snobs ROY.. Roy knows his end is near
decides to say last prayers..
asks GOD to send someone .. to deliver
the tuna to daughter..and his love regards
ROY is snatched sudden by deep sleep..
waves and waves of it.. ROY surrenders..
zones out.. awoken by a sharp mosquito bite..
..or is it butterfly.. looks everywhere..
lovely girl gives him a weird look..
shuttle conductor gives him a weirder look..
waves and waves of sleep swallow ROY..
Awoken by sharp bites.. many of them....
wakes.. now every ones.. giving sweet Roy..
very weird looks.. Swallowed by waves again..
bites starts... ROY keeps eyes closed.. twitching..
half asleep half awake.. distance laughs
more bites and more bites..twitching..
shuttle has reached.. ROY surprised he..
he still lives.. ROY tries to alight...
legs give way under him..
steadies himself then walks home..
ROY arrived home minus three cans of tuna..
with huge bumps to prove them biting...
after relating to us the story..
every ones burst... with stitches of laugh..
teasing ROY to death..OH... hes just met
the famous pinch bandits... Oh oh oh..
the pinch bandits
pretty girls they are
they way lay celebrities
who are too exhausted to
open their eyes.. pinch them
pinch them and again pinch mm..
and ROY day was finally come..home
Lewis K Nyaga
0239 eastafrican maritime