Long Tactless Poems
Long Tactless Poems. Below are the most popular long Tactless by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tactless poems by poem length and keyword.
That girl with a Nicki Minaj look really annoys me,
She boasts a lot thing that truly makes me dizzy.
Whenever I talk something about myself,
She overreacts and makes as well fond of herself.
She said it well but I’m not impressed,
We secretly mocked because she is so much suppressed.
She invisibly doesn’t know what others feel.
That girl who talks so hard doesn’t even know how to deal.
I frequently ask how she is being raised by her dad,
I can’t imagine how she was, when she was little cad.
Is she someone who I have to be with every single day?
Hella don’t know if I’m stuck in a not so filtered bay.
Is she trying to be frank? Loquacious? Or something?
That tactless mouth from hell is so never ending.
When will I ever say that I so much hate the way she speaks?
She ought to talk so guff that truly creakily leaks.
Oh Ms. Know It All is what I call her!
She’s doing many things like a royal blooded heir.
I can’t stand watching her in an over baroque style,
Can I just like eat, drink and love a little while?
Form:
The tears fall from terror taking my tragic soul
To teach a lesson to the tactless villans of
Today without remorse for the tragedy
I have witnessed
Never will I be the same after I was slain by
The knife of disdain on this wretched day
Always wished to get away from the pain
But never given the same as I pay
The power of death hangs over my head
Like a knife about to be slit but I never get
To see the light of day after what I have
Paid to rue the day I was trained
Pain holds my head under the water
As regret fills the sink to
Make me think of what crime I have
Committed on the day it rained
I will always remember the “BANG”
Of the trap like the tap of the rain
I once loved, ruined by the mistakes
Of my youth as I replay the memories
The smell of regret on my sweat
As I fret over stuff I know I can’t change,
Joined with the sound of the
Children forever young
I kick myself to feel the pain I deserve
For the pain, I have served to the
Kids in the woods I have slain
With my words
The Lying Tongue
sang a song
The Flattering Tongue
played along
The Know It All Tongue
intended the composition
The Meddling Tongue
held it's position
The Harsh Tongue
kept quiet for once
The Tactless Tongue
reluctantly obliged
The Rude Tongue
got annoyed
The Loquatious Tongue
was soon overjoyed
The Discouraging Tongue
hummed on
The Self-Depreciating Tongue
became withdrawn
The Argumentative Tongue
thought it all wrong
The Boasting Tongue
thought it right on
The Hasty Tongue
felt it was contrite
The Discouraging Tongue
and all this singing
The Indiscreet Tongue's
awkward whistling
The Complaining Tongue's
plodding drone
The Cursing Tongue
let out a no-no moan
The Judgemental Tongue
liked that a lot
The Self-Absorbed Tongue
rolled it's eyes
The Retaliating Tongue
held out a hat
The Intimadating Tongue
offered a prize
The Cynical Tongue
just laughed
The Accusing Tongue
choreographed
The Gossiping Tongue
signed autographs
The Doughting Tongue
crooned the refrain
The Accusing tongue
blasted the blame
The Hasty Tongue
fanned the flames
So the Belittling Tongue
dismissed the party
The Devisive Tongue
composed the ending
And the Silent Tongue
looked on.
* All tongues borrowed from
I have known this girl for quite long.
Been friends for years tied with strong thong.
Had hundreds of pictures with cool bonds.
Share deep stories like a ionic bond.
No dull moments when I’m with her.
She’s real friend hiding with no fur.
Tells things if it’s not getting on her way
Tactless but sweet is all I could say.
Generous and kind to anybody,
That’s why she is mostly liked by everybody.
Hang out at night with heavy cold drinks,
Gives me advice like those serious shrinks.
Lucky to be her best friend!
We all make things terribly good trend.
Hope that we have more years to come…
Share best moments of us which will sooner to come.
Brackish nerves languish and latch
like seashells clinging to the shore—
something in the water pulls them in…
some fervor from something
Familiar and Ancient.
I’ve seen your eyes before…
on too many arresting horizons…
how light hits your features,
colliding waves of my senses,
twisting my inner bitters—
wringing them out to the tactless tide.
Bitters melt in the salts…
nerves narrow and focus.
My lit up eyes drag against tidal forces and
you’re lost—drifting love…drifts…love drifts…
Love Drift.
Those dream-drooping eyes
are too knowing—too familiar—
which makes me whimper to realize…
you’re too bright for me to handle.
Fig Leaf
“While the fig leaf traditionally covers naked shame
The fig leaf also makes a healing tea of restoration” Quote by poet.
Ducking beneath a quilt woven of the fig leaf
To sip upon a homemade brew of fig leaf tea
That soothes the inflammation
Of my humiliation to enhance
The concentrated healing of my intentions
For my unmasked vulnerability –
The exposed private parts of my simpering heart
To apply an antibiotic poultice
That eliminates toxic gaffs of conscience -
Slips of the lazy tongue,
Thoughtless raging fevers of impropriety –
To strengthen bones of humility
This poor man’s olive branch
That unclogs charity’s lifeblood
Increases flow with overflow
In warm generosity
Eliminating tactless bacteria
Reducing the temperature of shame
To recline again in sweet gardens
Of compatibility at the twilight.
4-1-22
Contest: This or That
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title Chosen: Fig Leaf
The fig leaf is used to make tea with amazing antibiotic, anti-bacterial, anti-inflammatory, fever reducing, healing properties among many other positive properties.
What’s happening is clearly understood.
Apollo has one hand around her waist,
one predator, one quarry, interlaced.
He’s coming up behind her (which is good),
but she’s a tree (two lovers, getting wood!)
She’d rather change her state than be disgraced,
preferring to be chaste than to be chased.
She’s choosing abstinence, above life's blood.
Is love a trauma, to be undergone?
Arousal something ugly, to be faced?
Should Nature’s process be looked down upon?
The carnal act, a tactless lapse of taste?
Or might the thing be ardently embraced?
We, formless fragments, merging in The One?
it's little me
I live in here
growing up I see
a life full of fear
how do I grow
doing this or that
how do I know
when I just fall flat
hello shorty
little blue eyed boy
you'll not make fourty
no mothers joy
the bully to beat
what do I do
join gang on the street
prejudice soon flew
it's little me
I live in here
growing up I see
a life full of fear
now an employers place
how far have I grown
being honest to their face
young tactless I am now known
it's little me
I live in here
growing up I see
a life full of fear
I stumble
I crash
I crumble
I thrash
then destiny's arrival
in the nick of time
she becomes my ALL
life's song now sublime
a couple of additions
more melodies to hear
some chorus renditions
and gone is the fear
it's little me
I live in here
grown up I see
life is not to fear
it's never too late
for something new
a lockdown fate
and a different view
something more
for little me
still not knowing the score
is rhyming insanity
it's little me
I live in here
grown up I see
we must persevere
in the tides of time
little me has now flown
just me and rhyme
in the twilight zone
And one day
Out of the blue I wondered,
about those million little sacrifices that have been made
Because of which, the desires burning inside
Had no option other than to fade
How many times, the times not liable to be counted
must have a young mind came to a standstill
Barricading his thoughts,
On something so rare
Just to complete his leftover tasks, which are materialistic
Leaving behind the poem on his mind
Ohh dear tactless world, he's an Altruistic!
And how many times, the times not liable to be counted
must have a young hand come to a standstill
Dwindling hands, resisting hard
Something so pure
Just to complete his leftover tasks which are materialistic
Leaving behind the tune he discovered
Being constrained by time, he's an Altruistic!
Be it a poem or be it a self made tune
Be it a song or be it a tarot card displaying fortune
Be it a book or be it an art occupying whole room
Since the time immemorial,
A young artist always came to a standstill
Barricading his soul devoured by an art
Be it music, poetry, or fictional heart!
Being at the superior, yet all these are not at the start
Cause, there exists this tactless world
Powered by possessions materialistic
Making the inhabited souls an absolute altruistic
Altruistic ,for the deeds not worth deserving
And so, we never reached that threshold
where, the greatest films of all times would be made
The greatest songs of all time would exist
Not just for a while,
but for the time immemorial,
All the greatest art forms would persist!
As someday those buried masterpieces would be found
Under the same sky or maybe under the grave
As somewhere there must be a trace
that no one could easily erase
Indicating the beginning of that phase
Where young minds need not to be an altruistic
Need not to be a materialistic
But, SOLE SELFISHLY ARTISTIC!
William the First was our last king to come uninvited
though invincible armadas have sometimes been sighted.
Foreign kings were imported in cases of doubt.
Native kings had the habit of getting thrown out.
In the War of the Roses none tipped the scales
till the fray was joined by young Richmond from Wales.
A house like the Tudors for to bring to an end
on virgin queens you may safely depend.
Then came the Stuarts, who in Scotland had root,
but being too tactless, they were given the boot.
Though of Orange the house was not without fame,
some Irishmen spit when they hear Billy’s name.
George the First from Hanover as in matters English ill versed;
for affairs of state a state of affairs by no means the worst.
George the Third, however, spoke English quite well,
so Yanks up in arms told the Liberty Bell.
Thus Frenchmen and Dutchmen, Germans and Danes
have made their subjects rack their poor brains.
But the history of monarchs whose accents were poor
holds even today many lessons in store.
At the hustings all parties will promise us aught,
but after elections some memories are short.
“A kink is a man, no less and no more,”
said a very wise king as he sat on the shore.
“Let each of you here, thane or serf, be astute.
Don’t expect me to do what I plainly canute.