Long Suppose Poems
Long Suppose Poems. Below are the most popular long Suppose by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Suppose poems by poem length and keyword.
The people surrounding me keep asking “why are you going back and forth uneasily on the empty stage shedding crocodile tears, and telling the stories of negative effects on others, though you are not of a man of faculty who is even able to produce a theory comparable to 'Blind Will of Universe', one of worst hypothesizes a man can think of.
It’s because though,
when a worldly-minded snob shouts from a podium
“you should have a positive attitude,” while displaying
his resume proudly with the title that is little-to-do with his personality,
his limited academic background that barely conceals the lack of intelligence, and insignificant accomplishment with somewhat concocted experience hiding his real being and thought, he receives respect from the audience who fascinated by every movement the snob makes in the form of applaud with standing ovation, I was always treated badly from audience, fed only by unwelcome astringent fruits of rejection and drink bitter tasting water sprang from unwanted rotten roots to quench my desire…
And that’s why the course of my reasoning became negative,
and, as a natural consequence, no matter how often you may say
to the audience “you ought to be a person of positive attitude,”
since there are more negative aspects surrounding us than
the positive elements, and that’s why I was accepted by
others negatively. More importantly, I was treated negatively
from others simply because reality goes before me.
Although positive thinkers boast themselves as if their thoughts are
sound and healthy, by saying that the water in a cup is half full;
negative thinkers sigh with a defected air and say that a cup is
half empty. However, it doesn’t make any difference how you think,
men’s thoughts cannot surpass the physical phenomena
and, therefore, a half is a half, no more nor less than a half.
In the boundary and limit is as such, whether you like it or not,
men have to go on the path of their own destiny.
Then, why does everyone has to have a positive attitude? I suppose,
that is, not more than a writhe of the men who won’t admit reality
in desperate agony. That’s the self-gratification of men
who are not able to face the facts as they are.
[The irony is, nonetheless, man is able to bear and raise a baby
by an act of self-gratification. It’s amazing, the world is a place
full of wonders.]
THE NEWS
____________________________________________________________
Life Defined by Moments Blindsided
written by The Broken Hearted
Read the news today. There is blues Obituary
today. Agony in whatever we choose His life was extraordinary.
today. Is there no other way than Proud family, wife named Glory
to escape the day? Why did you have His children Edward and Tory
to end your life this way? Too many Died Monday first of July
have to question there own sanity Police give no reason why
taking your own life, is it vanity? Service will be held at one
Trying to control your own calamity? a potluck diner after it is done.
Why didn't you just converse with ________________________
somebody? Isn't that how it is
suppose to be? No one is suppose JOIN THE ARMY
to feel so alone that they end their
own life. What are we going to do A Bright Future
as society? It is paralyzing to think Awaits YOU!
of what could be, when we take to
the destruction personally. It is not ______________________
suppose to be that way. Pages ripped
away, the book is close and can't be oil change
replayed. A story over and its gone. 14.99
___________________________________________________________
POLICE BEAT
Police arrived on the scene shortly after hearing a gun shot fired on the second block of Hayes Road. A male was found deceased with a self inflicted wound to the head.
Cat in a tree on Main street. Firefighters, paramedics and officers dispatched. Cat is safe without injury.
_____________________________________________________________
WEATHER Lottery Numbers
Partly cloudy with chance of
thunderstorms. 85 degreess 6, 42, 66, 81, 89 01
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Folded away, tossed aside, no longer in view.
Nothing else printed, nothing else said about you.
We'll probably move on, we'll probably heal,
and we'll never have known what you feel.
When Mortimer Manders collapsed in the street,
his daughter, Muriel, was with him.
Though now seventy-five,
he’d continued to thrive,
in spite of the irregular rhythm
his heart was now keeping. But this was quite grave.
He hit the hard sidewalk real sudden.
When Muriel knelt
beside him, and felt
to locate where his pulse was, she couldn’t.
Soon, passers-by stopped and gathered around,
but no-one had medical knowledge.
“It’s good, I suppose,
If you loosen his clothes:
I think that’s what they told us in college …”
She looked wildly around, and thought that she’d found
a willing and capable saviour.
A red firehouse lay
thirty metres away –
(might as well have been Outer Moravia!)
When Muriel pounded the firehouse door,
a voice answered back through the panels,
“You make think it inept,
but we’ll only accept
an approach through appropriate channels.”
“But he pays your wages,” she argued with force:
and, pointing to where he was lying,
“You’ve got to come quick –
he’s collapsed on the bricks –
my father is probably dying!”
“You don’t understand how these things are arranged,”
said the voice, from the depths of the station:
“You just call nine-one-one.
If we try to respond,
we are risking adverse litigation.”
Running into the roadway, she flagged down a car,
and the driver agreeably shocked her:
with a white coat and bag
and a hospital tag,
he said, “Yes, you are right, I’m a doctor.”
As the quack pulled away, he turned briefly to say,
in a voice that was suitably gloomy,
“I will not touch that man,
for if I lend a hand
and he happens to die, you can sue me.”
The ambulance came, but things got more lame,
as Mortimer started to weaken:
though the ambulance crew
looked resplendent in blue,
the responders were all Costa Rican.
“We’ve lived here some time and our English is fine,
but we can’t touch our defibrillator.
To avoid getting screwed,
we must talk to him through
an officially-sanctioned translator.”
“But you sound good to me, and it’s peachy, you see,
for my father speaks German and Spanish.”
“But your ganso is cooked.
No interpreter’s booked.”
And the ambulance packed up and vanished.
So the moral is clear. Clear of medics please steer.
Your best course, if you’re feeling nervous, is
lay on linguists each day
in Magyar and Malay
– and don’t call emergency services.
My favorite hobby has always been scrapbooking
It's such a creative activity to do
For pictures and poems, I'm always looking
Forever scanning magazines through and through
I look for pictures of people and places
Some happy, some excited, some tired, some sad
I try to find real emotional traces
And whatever I like, to my scrapbooks I add
Over the years many books I have made
Scrapbooks of poetry old and new
Old web sites and online pictures I raid
Some of my scrapbooks are happy, some blue
Certainly, on this hobby you can say I'm hooked
There's nothing like it to keep me involved
No one would believe how hard I have looked
For rhymes and riddles that will never be resolved
I started this past time at our church
Each Wednesday all the ladies would look
Each one in her chair quietly perched
Consumed with finding the perfect hook
Everyone knows that you must create ideas
Inspiring and intriguing to reel in a person
Someone who will cast off all their fears
And stop to read your poem for a life lesson
I love scrapbooking, it's so rewarding
It brings childhood memories back to me
School days when with friends consorting
Times that were so happy and carefree
Often I reread through my many books
Books I've created by myself
Sometimes I find things that I've overlooked
Words that reveal how I once felt
Poems about family and friends so dear
Poems about God's creatures so lovely
Poems about Nature, Seasons, and Fears
Poems about things you can't buy with money
I'm planning on leaving my scrapbooks all
To my kids and grandkids after I'm done
When this life with its troubles are just a sad pall
And all they have left is the legacy I've begun
I never had many pictures or prose
Left me by parents or other relations
That's why I suppose I strive to compose
Scrapbooks to leave to younger generations
I want them to always remember me as
The Grandma that loved them so
I hope they realize that I had pizzazz
Even though I can't leave them much dough
The things that are important in life
Aren't always the things that are seen
When you live through all the sorrow and strife
You'll understand just what I mean
A love of poetry is what I will leave
For my children and grandchildren too
For what is a life and to what will you cleave
If great poetry is missing from you
By Julia Shaw
May 2020
He was not green not green at all
Trim and slim he was rather tall
His skin was more of a reddish-brown
His hair was pitch black with a pointed crown
Pleasant enough of a fellow I suppose
We notice each foot had just three toes
His hands were large and his fingers long
He was nice and pleasing but just did not belong
His voice was high pitch but sounded soft
The dust in the air made him sneeze and cough
His body seemed smooth no hair on sight
He enjoyed the shade and avoided direct sunlight
Large oval emerald embers of purest sight
His eyes had transparent lenses that for him seem right
If he looked at you and blinked his lens then eyes
You stood staring back hypnotize strangely paralyzed
His stomach was flat with the belly button gone
To us earth kids that was just plain wrong
His legs were long and skinny and seem to shine
We thought his skin secreted a secret slim
He was nice enough and always learned fast
Academically he surged to the head of the class
He excelled in computers science and math
When he smiled the girls blushed the boys laughed
He tried to be friendly but would not play outside
His tiny nose always in a book he became ostracize
Always helping teachers he became their favorite pet
When we saw his tail he was dubbed Martian Rat
His ears were almost nonexistent but hearing keen
He heard our thoughts he knew everything
We plotted to get him outside and whip his butt
But he knew our every move so we finally gave up
Slowly but surely we all came around
And he became the most popular boy in town
He told tales of heroes slaying dragons of Mars
He told journeys and dreams beyond the stars
He never liked winter hated the snow
The poor boy just really couldn't handle the cold
Summers and falls to him seem all right
Spring with thunder storms gave him the fright
He was the first boy amongst us to kiss a girl
Hot Holly by golly gave him a whirl
We all played indoors to be by his side
The feelings of yesterday we all denied
Than just like that Yarn was gone
His family went back to were they belong
We felt betrayed and misunderstood
We lost a friend and did the best we could
Late at night a group of us looked up to the sky
Was Yarn looking down to us from way up high?
Worlds apart but we become close yet he left so far
We miss our friend two big hearts within the boy from Mars
April 6 Wagontire, Oregon
1973
In 1973, I went on a road trip
With my father
We left Berkeley to go to Yakima
Where my father had a summer cabin
He was a college professor
And had July and August off
And we spent the summers
Every summer from 1968 to 1978
Our whole dysfunctional family
Our annual road trip to hell and back
As we did not get along at all
We decided to drive through Eastern Oregon
Just my father and me
Just for the hell of it
The rest of the family was already there
My father and I shared a travel lust
One of the few things we shared
This was one of our best trips
We got along
Which was unusual
Normally our relationship
Was fraught
As we were so different
We left Klamath Falls
A real nothing burg in those days
And headed east along highway 395
As we entered the desert of eastern Oregon
We entered a different world
High mountain dessert
Almost no one on the road
Then we saw the sign
Wagontire Oregon
100 miles ahead
99 miles ahead
98 miles ahead
We counted down the signs
Miles after miles
As we drove into the gathering dusk
We speculated that Wagontire
Must be a giant truck stop
In the middle of no where
We pulled into the town
Nothing there but a gas station
Motel and café
We decided to stop
Last gas for 100 miles
According to the highway signs
In the morning
We chatted with the owner
He was the sheriff, the fire chief
The owner of the motel, gas station
The only business in town
And the only place open
For one hundred miles
I noticed a highway sign outside
Welcome to Wagontire, Oregon
Population 2 ½ humans 10 dogs, 50.000 sheep
I asked the Sherriff
Say who is the ½ human?
My idiot son!
And we left.
200 miles later
We finally left Eastern Oregon
2016
In 2016 my wife and I drove through Eastern Oregon
As part of our epic cross country trip
10,000 miles
31 states in three months
On the way from Medford to Yellowstone
We drove along highway 395
The signs for Wagontire was gone
And we drove through the town
The motel was abandoned
Nothing there at all
And that sign was gone too
I said I suppose the idiot son
Never took over the business
And we speculated about Wagontire
And all other nothing burgs
We drove through that summer
Heart of Trump’s America
True fly over country
I came home one evening after a hard day at work,
To find a surprise waiting for me.
I ran to the table, my heart filled of glee.
I imagined him sneaking in with a sexy little smirk.
It was a wooden box, beside it a mask of snowy white
I opened it up and found a note.
Written on it was a cute quote:
“We will dance until the clock strikes midnight”
I followed the rose pedals sprinkled on the floor,
They led me to my bedroom.
My heart went boom, boom, boom,
As I opened the door.
I could not believe what I found,
For it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
An elegant white with a beads of green.
On my bed was a gorgeous gown.
There was another letter,
This one written out in pedals all across the bed.
The message read:
“There is a hole in my heart, and seeing you tonight will make it all better”
I put on the dress and looked in the mirror.
And I found another remark.
“Get all dressed up and come to the old park,
Our moment together draws nearer and nearer.”
I rushed down the stairs,
Grabbed the mask on the way out.
Ran down the street, my mind clear of all doubt,
For this man was the answer to my prayers.
I got to the park and saw him waiting,
And I discovered I was not the only one to wear a mask.
He told me that I had one more task.
He said “Close your eyes and think back to when we started dating”
Obeying him, I closed my eyes,
And without me knowing, he got down on one knee.
Everything fell silent, then I heard “Desiree will you marry me?”
That’s when my heart burst into a million fireflies.
I opened my eyes, stuck in a trance
As I was not expecting this thrill.
I flung my arms around him and replied “Oh Stephen of course I will!”
Just then he grabbed me and we began to dance.
Just like his note said,
We danced until the clock struck midnight,
Holding me close with all his might,
Right on his shoulder is where I placed my head.
The rain began to pour,
So we ran hand in hand.
He said “This is not how I planned”
Then we reached my door.
We entered my house,
Where it was all cozy and dry.
Once again my heart began to fly,
As I stared into the eyes of my soon to be spouse.
All he said was “I Love You”
That was all I wanted to hear,
For me to wipe away all fear.
Knowing he loved me, I replied “I Love You Too”
*Not a true story, just a sort of fanatasy I suppose*
I'm sorry for all the stupid things I've done
I guess I'll leave now before the break of dawn
You made me love you, but that didn't last too long
You belong with me or so I thought while writing this sad song
I'm a terrible guy with a broken heart
Strengthen me before I shatter apart
I'm such a fool for believing in your fairytale stories
Now, I'm left behind and lost in the blemishes of my allegories
Have you been led astray?
What can I say?
Did I make your day?
or did I reduce you to utter dismay?
I apologize
For bringing tears in your eyes
And for telling you sugarcoated lies
Now, I'm frozen in place forever in your goodbyes
I'm alone again in my room of gloom
I suppose I'll try to be happy and like a flower in full bloom
You made me fall short, but I'll get up and be renewed once more
You wronged me and I did you wrong too - I don't know what for
I'm a terrible guy with a broken heart
Strengthen me before I shatter apart
I'm such a fool for believing in your fairytale stories
Now, I'm left behind and lost in the blemishes of my allegories
Have you been led astray?
What can I say?
Did I make your day?
or did I reduce you to utter dismay?
I apologize
For bringing tears in your eyes
And for telling you sugarcoated lies
Now, I'm frozen in place forever in your goodbyes
I'm caught up in the current of my bottomless emotions
Guide me to a faraway place called Peaceful Splendor...guide me away from the many commotions
You pretend that you had nothing to do with me
I can see right through you as you can clearly see
I'm a terrible guy with a broken heart
Strengthen me before I shatter apart
I'm such a fool for believing in your fairytale stories
Now, I'm left behind and lost in the blemishes of my allegories
Have you been led astray?
What can I say?
Did I make your day?
or did I reduce you to utter dismay?
I apologize
For bringing tears in your eyes
And for telling you sugarcoated lies
Now, I'm frozen in place forever in your goodbyes
I see you crystal clear in my shimmering vision
You handle me with such delicate precision
I'm under pressure and I don't know exactly what to say or do
I've been writing this down with a smile and a frown - that, I did so true
Guide me away from here...
Lead me away from fear...
Guide me with utmost cheer...
Happiness and hope will surely appear!
WHO AM I AND WHY AM I ME
When I wake in the mornings to look at my day
I have to start out pushing my pain away
I know I have problems that I have to fight
But a person like me sometimes can’t sleep all night
I was in a wreck when I was 15 and I saw the light
I heard God say to me, it’s not my time, I wonder why he was right
So why did I live I don’t understand but I guess God knows why
Because he is the main man
I feel all people see is the beauty on the outside
But they have no idea of all the pain I hide on the inside
I would walk for miles to help someone live
Just to know they had smiles to give
I have always believed everything is meant for a reason
My pain is real and hard to describe, but God can change a season
Maybe the abuse that I went through is the reason
I do what I do. But that’s not a excuse to people that love you
It’s amazing to me how the world works in a mysterious way
Because for me I have to wonder why I am here day to day
When I leave this world I hope I have done what was meant for me. That is the
reason we are all here is to be all we can be
Sometimes I have to cry, sometimes just be alone, and sometimes I have to scream
at the unknown
It’s a pain within ourselves that no one can see, but it can hurt like hell sometimes
to have to be me
I don’t understand my thoughts and why I feel this way
But God had his reason for me in that wreck that day
I have a wonderful family, and I love them all so much and they love me. So who
am I and what am I suppose to be.
I am so sorry for the pain I have cause all of my loved ones but I feel deep inside
you understand what is going on
The pain inside of me is from my soul, day to day I never know
You can’t understand it until you feel the pain I don’t show
I will fight to the end for the reason I am here, to be all I can be and I will be strong
enough to see why I am me
When I go to bed I will defiantly pray that while I am a sleep God will give me a
better next day.
I want others to know it’s not all just me, I just want to know who we are and we
are suppose to be
I am going to sleep now because I am tired, but the women I was today, tomorrow
will be retired.
All I want to know in life is who I am and why I am me, God didn’t say when he
shined that light for only me to see
Cindy Malony
Form:
Dear Reader,
Greetings! I hope you are having a wonderful day, or evening if you are just reading this.
No, really, from the depths of my soul, my spirit waves a double-handed "Hi!" to yours.
Come, bring your philosophical coffee cup or tea cup or cup of whatever your favorite
beverage is and sit beside me, across the e-ther. May I ask why you are reading this? You
want to read poetry, I understand, and this is not really poetry. Or is it? Could this
count as free verse? I would not call it a sonnet or a haiku, except in the loosest
possible definition, in the way that drawing outside of the lines can be a drawing and a
de Kooning painting consisting of a chunky orange paintstroke can be considered to depict
a woman. But what makes poetry poetry, or art art for that matter? The medium? The
observer? The intent? Surely Warhol's footage of people sleeping would never be considered
art except for the presence of the camera and the eventual distribution. A man sleeping
miles from a camera or canvas would not likely be considered art, so does the camera
serially produce art? Most people would not consider home movies to be art. So is art
merely a stamp that we all carry around in our frontal lobes? Is life a form of art
regardless of what we call it? In this day and age, in which all rules seem to be broken,
rewritten, broken again, stretched like an old t-shirt, ripped, worn as a new fashion, and
then broken again, have we evolved to the point where we see rules as artificial labels,
something outside our own world that no more exist than the square root of negative one?
Is this letter a poem in spite of itself? What do you think? We may never know for sure,
and if this entry gets deleted from the site, I suppose the answer is a thunderclap "No."
In fact, after thinking it through, I am fairly confident that this is actually not a
poem. These labels are an earnest attempt to creates links in the world, without which
this entire treatise would make no sense. What would Petrarch have thought? What would
Warhol have thought? Or Andy Kaufman? Either way, I guess this is probably not a poem. But
thank you for having read these thoughts of mine, swirling like pagan revelers around my
head. Thank you for reading my non-poem which may actually be a poem but isn't. I bid you
a wondrous and blessed day. Or night.
Yours,
-Michael