Long Societal Poems
Long Societal Poems. Below are the most popular long Societal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Societal poems by poem length and keyword.
Forced diversity has led to a compacted social sedimentation.
Another flavor of oppression...for everybody... this time around.
There's a heavy undercurrent of resentment and hatefulness.
Tugging souls down to where there's no air-no light -no honor.
A few well-intended veins are attempting to traverse the compaction.
But they're thin- fragile- guilt-ridden- unsustainable.
Destined to a slow wither or quickly bleed out.
If compacted for a prolonged period
There'll be a blending, but only via explosion.
Make no mistake:
This movement isn't about unity, equality, or putting balm to a wound.
It's about resentment, entitlement, and payback.
Choking people out with their mental scar tissue.
Our final hour draws near
As the pillars of the earth
Are raised above the threshold
The human condition of primeval primitivity
It's tribal, and civilized devices
Our cherished, but brittle
and unstable societal constructs
Have been refined and pondered upon
By wisemen for a millennia
But they remain all the same
of gold and jewel hoarding merchant swine
Or the Lord of the land which still
Holds in his hand the peasant lives
have existed Since the days of Christ.
Fortunes and prestige was made
On backs of the slaves of man
No longer slaves of one color race or Creed
Be it the blindly led masses, or the ones
Who exist to fill a pair of Jack boots
To crush any who oppose the will of few
Imposed upon the liberty and lives of
the inumerable many
Kept in listless contention
like precious cattle cargo kept in comfort
In the moments before slaughter
No use for livestock who no longer can be soothed
By the noise of the static which has kept them subjugated
Slaves, by whatever name designated
As a product of which the era produces for them
Today still remained shackled
Even as they no longer have chains
To bind the spirit or flesh
The forgotten
Will not be extinguished
They writhe in ancestral rage
Their enemy oppressors
Shall be cleansed as pennance
In the fires of retribution
But the end will be swift
with coming winds of changes
Which will blow with the sands of time
Eroding the stone inscribed with the epitaph of humanity
"What hope could there be, for us, when the light that we possessed
Our compassion, the goodness of man,
is something learned and not inherent in our souls
And bring the torrent of uncivilized upheaval
Tearing us like weeds from their earthly respite
Grinding and rending us in our vessels
back into the soil and seas.
Relinquished to the warn embrace
of our celestial mothers womb
As she plants the cosmic seeds
Sowed in the brilliance of her aeons
And which grew the bountiful harvests
that fueled our creation
And let us to thrive
as we found our way
through a cruel,
but natural order of selection
The anomallic flux
In a fluid plasticity of
Biological machinations
Heaven's (to Betsy) dis allow
wing danger fields vow
wing to protect and bless
beasts and children – endow
wing inadequate livingsocial
egads, fore-fend, now
a days such simultaneous show
whirring, or bath,
asper in above - flow
whir a sad comment
aery on humanity,
when one cannot,
but be faulted bestow
wing unforgettable sibling
camaraderie making
a splash together -
holy cow
"big brother" watching quickly
contacted and how,
hastening to doorstep
child welfare pow
were fully advocating
(nee demanding)
legal custodian to bow
with demands...,or else...
get locked up in tow
handcuffed if in sub
ordinate or cause row
dee ness regard
ding custody of
minor, no go
even though dependents
only freshly crow
wing out of toddler
call robin hood,
to help post bail
necessitating scraping dough
such nonchalant
activity, would grow
into flagrant sexual abuse know
tub bull lee i.e. pedophilia poe
tent shill strongly predicted,
especially ho...ho...ho
Christmas holidays,
where queen tush
scent shill average Don Joe
Jacob Jingleheimer
Schmidt sits on Santa's lap,
(a veritable stranger),
this practice oddly enough
acceptable to status quo
ordinarily kids
should think "whoa"
upon being accosted, confronted,
detained...and NOT slow
to run the other way pronto!
We live in a free verse universe.
And yet, some want conformity
when it serves their own purpose.
Societal rules do not apply to all.
The only thing that is consistent
is the inconsistency of things.
Life’s only normality is
the abnormality of life.
For some, a free verse universe is a curse;
It is synonymous with chaos.
For others, anything less would be too confining;
Slavery in the disguise of conventional wisdom.
Even the laws of nature have blurred boundaries;
Bumble bees defy the laws of physics
and can only fly in the free verse universe.
Try to demand conformity
and you are doomed to fail.
Try to exist with non-conformity
and anarchy will rule.
The irony of it all?
There are defined parameters for meeting the
definition of a free verse universe.
Fly little bee, fly.
To bow my head before oppression
was never written in my genetic code.
To play the slave for a miserable wage,
and pray to the god of those slave-masters
in order to taste the pleasures of prosperity,
is nothing but a nightmare.
If I do not love you,
I will tell you straight in the eyes,
like those independence fighters
born of my genealogical tree.
I hate the hypocrites,
the deceitful, the envious,
the liars, the racists, the traitors,
and those human beings who lie down
beneath the weight of oppression.
I am the expression of a humanity
freed from the burdens
of Western societal conformity.
I despise propriety
when the environment is hostile.
When I suffer,
my demons seize control of the vessel.
I have but one life,
one journey,
one dusk,
before the reaper
comes to harvest my tainted soul.
My allegiance is to Africa,
despite the chaos that has reigned there for centuries.
I will remain bound
to the cradle of humanity
until my final dusk.
The young men sat, planted under the overhang
like the pansies and geraniums that surrounded them in boxes,
as the rain pelted the terra-cotta terrace.
The mountain air was sharp with the taste of lightening.
Having bid farewell to the arched shard of a rainbow across the valley,
they sat tensely watching the celestial bombardment of Katmandu.
The lightening stoked the day’s heat,
thickening the early evening sky like the yogurt they’d eaten for lunch.
A home-made rice wine poured freely over their tongues
from an innocent looking water bottle.
Their eyes turned garnet with the harshness of it.
The bottle sat with its tattered label, upon the arm of the white chair.
The wine within tasted faintly of the gasoline,
yet, they reveled in it, and the freedom from deep seeded societal traits,
it freed them from.
Overhead, the sky was draped in a bridal veil of stars;
as I emerged from the room to sit beside them.
You probably feel like the world is against you.
This letter is for that young woman from fifty years ago.
She was eighteen years old; that was me. I experienced those feelings back then, and as I look back through a reverse mirror of time, I realize that while the societal context may have changed, the emotions and struggles I faced remain relevant. They highlight enduring themes like resilience and identity.
Individual experiences are crucial; they illuminate broader issues and provide vital insights into the historical context that informs today’s discussions. Focusing on the past is essential for understanding present challenges—it doesn’t hinder progress; it fuels it. By sharing my narrative, I hope to empower young women and inspire them to recognize the connections between the past and the present as they forge their paths.
Forget about your looks; they will come in time. Look around you; it’s all about visualizing what Mother Nature can do. The potential is there, but you may struggle to understand how to harness it. I assure you that you can profit from the land. Those wild aloe stalks you see are just the beginning. In fifty years, they will be showcased in the beauty industry.
The Pure Aloe Vera Gel: Aloderma Pure Aloe Gel is a fast-acting moisturizer that helps restore the skin’s natural balance and hydration. It provides intense hydration for a plump and supple complexion. It’s lightweight, fast-absorbing, and suitable for all skin types.
By 2025, it will cost millions of dollars and be an essential ingredient in most facial products aimed at reversing the aging process. Unlike Rihanna Fenty's product line which focuses on a variety of products, this is about using all-natural ingredients from the land. This was us against the world, and here I am today, looking back in time to see your reaction as you read this letter.
People may laugh at you now, but you will strive to embody the beauty of a goddess. Even as I write this narrative letter to you, I still feel your pain. People back then were afraid of the unknown; we were not. We were wise and adventurous.
Be brave, be strong, and remember that you are sheltered under the blood of Jesus. Read Psalm 91 daily.
Righteousness In Distress
Many indisputably dreaded lunacy ensued yet hoped there is no hell
On a dim corner, the deposed 2017 president wiggle in his dank cell
Fake hero inside a fat ego in Moscow, waggle bloody fists of outrage
Nothing tragic happens if neurons are at bay and not on a rampage!
Societal issues is like week old bread without slivers of magic butter
Words embellished with hot air eventually sink masses in iced water
Sword of justice seizes a mad czar and a true charlatan alleged holy
If evil doers cramp your insides, chomp anti-acid, dump your worry!
Penned: 09/23/2022
Aboard cruise liner:
Rhapsody of the Seas
Haifa, Israel
They would whisper softly in school hallways
That the scale held the truth of your societal worth
Acne popped itself to the surface, comedones of volcanoes
My quirks already seemed to be forbidden, the way they'd avoid me
I was the friend with red skin and no way to charm guys
The blonde, skinny girl with skin clearer than Bahamian waters
She'd be the one in his hierarchal mind and wet dreams each night
How come honor roll and intellect never made the checklist?
My untamed waves were "crazy", just like my empathy
For those outside the bubble of teenage concerns
When I'd open my jaws, I'd end up isolated
Like social solitary confinement for the smallest offenses
Tears slid down my skin like condensation on mirrors
My eyes shed the water I skipped over some slight bloating
Did they even know what androgens really were?
Doesn't matter when you're thirteen and on your knees for praise
The scars represented the sword to the heart I got
Though ignorance plagued many peers for years at a time
Children asking children why the doctor hadn't fixed them
But they certainly were no masters of teen psychology
So I tossed cotton in my chest to make them distracted
All they wanted from me was an ask to skip breakfast
Not even foundation fountains and gleamy lips and eyes
Starved their requirement to toss profanities at me
But once I aged, I came to the deepest life realization
Not the kind that made you shout "Eureka!"
But that people have poor filters and judgement during adolescence
And that those sloppy phrases never stripped me of worth
What was his problem?
He never did anything below the belt in this world.
What was his problem?
He never looked at a girl with the wrong sense of commitment.
What was his problem?
Looking at every possible thing in life
and trying to enjoy it,
even when he was suffering deep inside.
What was his problem?
When he was told he should be perfect for society,
he tried his best to be.
What was his problem?
When his crying was made of pain, suffering,
and the enormous burden of pressure
he carried in every drop of blood in his body.
What was his problem?
Defining every piece of passion he felt
to buy some respect to show in society.
What was his problem?
Working hard for his parents,
not just to make them proud,
but so they could show him off
and make the relatives feel like the lower ones.
What was his problem?
He never showed the face of their only son to the parents again.
But the problem was… they never craved for it.
What was his problem?
He wanted that the world should read this all,
when the note will be in the hand of a policeman
who will have some empathy in his eyes
to talk to the family and ask his father, his mother,
some questions about himself
that would make him feel alive again
even though his soul was dead before he committed suicide.
What was his problem?
He never wanted to be in this world,
but he had to, just because after the death
he knew what will be the best conclusion of death he will receive.
It could either be hell
or his rebirth again in that family.
What was his problem?
Even when he was found
happily hanging from the fan,
the parents said,
“We don’t know what was his problem.”