Long Tasked Poems
Long Tasked Poems. Below are the most popular long Tasked by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tasked poems by poem length and keyword.
Accursed human species
case in point Vladimir Putin,
who strikes terror across globe.
Don't underestimate his hell bent
zeal to attack United States,
one blood sucking infernal
predacious *****sapien
mercilessly bullies, interrogates,
threatens... with zeal.
Considerably less mortifying
constitutes wrathful ordeals
exhibited by adults who treat
thine wife with indecorous jibes
like punks who sat back of bus
or classmates at Methacton
High School, mine alma mater.
No different than typical mean kids
many crotchety residents here
Highland Manor Apartments
majority residents aggrieve the missus
though said counterpart (thee spouse)
exudes standoffish poise
countenance dons and
nonverbally trumpets scowl
body language broadcasts
social graces be damned
easily interpreted as snub
engendering hostile imprecations
cruelly fiendish provocations
undermine capacity to experience
peace of mind
exacerbated by her
figurative cold shoulder
propensity to flip the bird
notched, ratcheted, torqued... tension
courtesy miss prissy heiress,
daughter, she secured management role
albeit (hats off) to nepotism
guarantees lifelong job security
issued thee missus warning
rental stipulation disallows
overt middle finger flashing signal
emotional entanglement ensued
yours truly tasked
to pursue more favorable environment,
yet scant finances (mine)
and poor credit
two strikes against
locating affordable living situation
since sole family income
social security disability
direct deposited monthly
buzzfeeding checking account
regularly near anorexic,
cuz additionally I pay
costs of living expenses
cole king avoiding being homeless,
thus this penniless
among dime a dozen
day late dollar short
low income bracketed
(marching with madness)
mister casts quandary
couched as poetry,
no great expectations,
nonetheless cathartic to communicate
(hoop fully understandable)
present tense plight
projected as plotted trend
fat and/or slim chance
fate will curse me as lottery winner
pipe dream teasing
this word plumber flush with ire,
who feels nsync and drained
scraping hand to mouth
bemoaning apathy, dismal
effort, gross indifference
toward self sums (mein kampf)
plus academic struggles
proffers grim forecast
as coxswain at mercy
rudderless ship of state
edges closer to his waterloo.
Hey,
For you, it started Sunday night.
For me, on Friday, it came to light.
It’s dumb that I didn’t see the signs.
How could I miss those warning lines?
Yes, I was in love, it's true,
But no reason for what you’d do.
In front of people, you asked,
While you laughed, my heart was tasked.
I heard it all, it wasn’t funny.
Spent time thinking, it felt so crummy.
What did you mean, why’d you say it?
I liked you, yet I felt the hit.
Never mean, I should have been,
But then sadness would have set in.
"Pull yourself together," I’d say,
When you insulted a girl that day.
I gave you gifts, like a fool,
Loved you more, breaking every rule.
Sorry for writing, for giving much,
You should’ve told me with a gentle touch.
Embarrassed now, I must confess,
When I was nice, it caused me stress.
Heard you insulted my belief,
Causing me endless grief.
Catcalling others isn’t fun,
It’s harmful and shouldn’t be done.
But until then, you hadn’t harmed me,
Still, it wasn’t hard to see.
Without a thought, you’d find it funny.
Walked home, slept the same,
Yet still, I felt the shame.
You said, "No need to give a gift,"
My heart felt a sudden shift.
Then asked about the bet with Samx,
You blocked me, no time to relax.
Apologies I sent your way,
But you never had much to say.
Why block me, what did I miss?
Your silence felt like an abyss.
Back and forth, the messages went,
Still, no response was ever sent.
In class, our projects to present,
You criticized, my heart was bent.
Liam denied, said mine was good,
Tried to distract, as best I could.
Put a pen in Jake's hood, for fun,
Mentos in my case, the damage done.
Ran out crying, mind shut down,
Tears in eyes, I wore a frown.
Liam brought my things, to my surprise,
Thanked him with tearful eyes.
Near the stairs, you watched us there,
Still, I felt you didn’t care.
Sat away, trying not to cry,
Thanks to Liam, I got by.
Before school’s end, applause rang clear,
For running the group year after year.
But no more, I’d had enough,
Just because your silence was rough.
Teacher called your name out loud,
Changes I felt, amidst the crowd.
I’ll welcome a new me, with cheer,
Maybe we’ll meet again next year.
My grandfather Hymie
spent his entire life at sea
his thick calloused hands
and ruddy complexion re
enforced non verbal body language
voluminous tomes as testimony
to countless years
(spilling into decades)
exposed to salty spittled
spumed raw elements que
sin art finest artisanal blended, crafted,
dredged by mother nature pre
pared within each trough and crest only
for thy fiercely weatherbeaten nee,
tough as rawhide, leathery,
chafed skin to me
not surprising, since
this mariner born, bred and near lee
schooled within
briny deep ever since knee
high (or so he claimed truth
to swirling rumor), jovialy
pleased that his purportedly
learnin' myth writ tik ne'r included
NEVER settn' foot in formal classroom,
his knowledge icy
anecdotes aced, surpassed,
and trounced that of what he
referred to as grenadier landlubbers
green behind the ears – glee
fully jabbing with his
unsheathed scabbard play flea
actually downplaying any exploits,
that didst educate him, prith ee
teaching him survival skills asper
getn' taut via eddy fied tests frequently de
siding a life or death outcome,
yet our Dickensian mutual friend
shared exploits while
he dressed not in tatters,
but self made clothes from cree
chores comfortable furs, and though
a striking appearance cut, ne'r
did this ole codger (fit as a fiddle
with tall slender build),
said middle aged man appeared quite be
coming. An aura, charisma, dogma
amazingly graced stalwart, gestalt,
deportment aie
found added an air of charming debonair,
esteeming flair, genteel heir
which tasked guessing years old,
aye presumed him to exit the uterine lair
at least a few score tours round oblate sphere
as aspect of youthfulness played across his eyes
one colored green like a spring day in the country,
the other jetblue sans burnin'
four pearl jam oyster cult year.
ah...them tha many decades past
since the merchant
from Neptune to mast
to nether world, though his parting seems
like it hapt last
year, noot nay twas scores o' full moons ago,
that grim reaper came swift and fast.
Moving through the pulse and the flow
A timetable of fixed dilation
A given
And measured
Ellipse
To the people it trips
As they ride the crest
Of the waves
Of emotions
Just prisoners of
Perpetual motion
Never ceasing
Never pretending to be
Anything more
Born into the days
Of a future long past
Spying its records
From the start to the last
We are all
Just second hand news
In a land of ne’re to be
Nonsensical devotion
The prisoners of perpetual motion
Elate
And repress
The We
The US three
The Me
Myself
and I
Come to share in a life such as these
Checking out the view
I’m just second hand news
In the land of Ne’re do we
Strolling on by and
Pressing on through
Tasked with its provisions
And it’s riddled revisions
Nonsense and fiction
Have found their new diction
Of solar progression
As they encapsulate
The US Three
Strolling on by
Pressing ahead
The RIGHT
And the TRUE
It’s textured and layered deception
Held a managed intervention
Holding within its folio
The signatures of digression
Devoid of emotion
As it’s pendulum swings to and fro
Never able to leave
Or break its grasp
Transcending all in its path
Nonsense and fiction
Wear a guise of suspicion
Take on a new face
A perplexing division
With its sweeping broad strokes
To embrace and replace the US Three
Brushing on past
Just a page before
You knocked on the door
Of the garden where flowers once grew
These steps you’ve taken
Left to the tender mercies
Of fiscal conservancy’s
Hyperbolic uncertainty
Common knowledge
Given breathe
As stolen
A thief
Of the Inspector in chief
His notes plainly written
A solider in part
Has taken my enemies heart
In a fruitless pursuit
Of passion and pain
Here
I remain
In its orbital dance
The great mechanic has cast
His players
The WE
The US Three
Cry the home
On this ellipse
As we roam
The WE
The US Three
The black crow
Watches unfaltering
With his stalwart gaze
As your counterfeit lies
Sought in other men’s eyes
With a forbodance
Which can not be denied
In the wink of an eye
Like the pearls on a string
That glow
And
That shine
As it squares with the facts
In the drivers seat of circumstance
And at length in perpetuity
YOU hold the charter to men’s hearts.
A queen was spinning flax one day.
She gave her loom a jerk.
(Don’t ask what “flax” or “looms” might be,
or why a queen must work).
She pricked her finger (careful, now!)
yet Sigmund Freud would say
these children’s tales are full of smut –
there is no other way.
Three drops of blood fell in the snow
(she’s spinning flax outside?)
She thought that she’d commemorate
her perforated hide.
“I’ll have a daughter,” Queenie thought,
“with lips of ruby red,
and skin as white as that there snow!
Let’s go!” And so to bed.
Her weaving-loom was black as jet
- another tint to add –
and when she found she was ‘with child’,
a daughter’s what she had.
The girl grew fair, with jet-black hair,
and skin, unblemished, white:
those curvy hips, those luscious lips!
She was a gorgeous sight.
But mother never missed a chance
to put her daughter down:
“Just understand, I rule this land –
the only babe in town!”
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
who’s the tasty totty?”
The magic mirror told her straight,
“Queen, you’re the only hottie!”
But adolescence changes things,
and Snow White turned out fair:
to use the common parlance, she
had grown a lovely pair!
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
I’m still the choicest chick!”
“Well, just about,” the mirror said:
“the kid’s improving quick!”
We’ll drop the Huntsman who was tasked
to take her to the river
(Snow White, that is) and rip her guts,
so Queen could eat her liver.
Why did the hunter like the girl?
Was it her curvy bits?
A friend, he proved – and probably
A friend with benefits!
He told the truth, and now the youth
slipped something in the booze.
She turned real mean – she got the queen
the reddest pair of shoes!
The birthday bash was fairly flash:
for Queenie, two surprises –
no, not the wine ‘improved’ with hash,
as everyone surmises!
Snow White was still alive, the first:
she wore a see-through blouson.
“Mommy Dearest,” red lips pursed,
“Just slip these bright red shoes on.”
The Queen put on the birthday gift
and started twirling, prancing:
the mirror told her, “You’ve been stiffed!
You’re dying, Queen – not dancing!”
That Snow White dame must take the blame:
for she had put together
two metal sheets, a red-hot treat!
Those shoes weren’t made of leather!
Number forty six - White House occupant re:
guarding President elect Joe Biden
Within mein hermitage
now dwells one euphoric troglodyte who wept
upon hearing unbelievable news,
(albeit at snail's pace schlepped
finally proclamation emancipation
gave reasonable rhyme yours truly to ejaculate
(not prematurely), subsequently I leapt
into the air, and kept
myself aloft completing
one after another sumersault and except
for minor nuisance of gravity
nevertheless landed feet first and crept
back into mine mancave adept
to survive alone in the wilderness.
Seventy four million popular votes
tallied across country,
gives ample reason to grind hips and bump,
(cuz the most votes
cast for any presidential candidate in history),
which Republican contender finally plopped
hook line and anchored
courtesy Taj Mahal replica sinker
into dustbin of history
good riddance electorate voted out
loutish oaf, which voters chose to dump
best mandated to cavort with zoot suited frump
on any given Wednesday available to hump
rotund barenaked lady merging
into humongous protoplasmic lump.
Caught red handed concerning
more'n where's the beef
stole 2016 election
under nose of Hillary Clinton
abused role, when tasked
as commander in chief
good ole Charlie Brown nemesis
caused nothing but grief,
hence yours truly quite elated
upon occasion when figurative new leaf
turned over and booted out
as more onerous than Baghdad thief.
Hit the ground running
with nary a second to waste
Joe Biden, Kamala Harris and company
proving their steely eyed mettle
after victory lap Democrats did taste
usher in COVID-19 game plan
bolstering pandemic defences
where prior administration sorely misplaced
priorities United States Lady Liberty
wantonly, undeservedly, subsequently
her reputation disgraced.
Hope springs eternal - ah tis amazing grace
yours truly suddenly brimming with optimism
able bodied diverse cabinet to erase
formerly inept sycophants with intentions base
running amok within White House
at long last competent candidate won the race
adieu Donald Trump, who
did disappearing act at Mar-A-Lago without a trace
sore loser teed off absent American
delivering his humiliating defeat coup de grâce.
(scoured from dregs of me muss held head)
I shore up a vignette to free
my ("FAKE") grandfather Hymie,
whose scrunched countenanced
evinced beetle that of browed monkey
he spent his entire life at sea
his thick calloused hands
and ruddy complexion re
enforced non verbal body language
voluminous tomes smoothed
nick holed money
to countless years (spilling into decades)
exposed to salty spittle nee
where watery terrain spumed
raw elements piscine
art finest artisanal blended, crafted, nein
mean feet resources dredged reluctantly
relinguished by mother nature mean
craftily pared within each trough and crest
found thee old man with privateer mein
whose skin fiercely weatherbeaten
leathery and lean,
epidermis tanned tough
as rawhide, reptilian, prithee
chafed skin to me
not surprising, since
this mariner born, bred and near lee
schooled within briny deep ever since knee
high (or so he claimed truth
to swirling rumor), jovialy
pleased that his purportedly
learnin' myth writ tik ne'r included
NEVER settn' foot in formal classroom,
his knowledge icy
anecdotes aced, surpassed,
and trounced that of what he
referred to as grenadier landlubbers
green behind the ears – glee
fully jabbing with his
unsheathed scabbard play flea
actually downplaying any exploits,
that didst educate him, 'ee
got taut learn'n survival skills asper
pre ponder hunt via eddy fied tests frequently dee
siding a life or death outcome,
yet our Dickensian
mutually bonding friendship
via shared exploits while
he dressed not in tatters,
but self made clothes from cree
chores comfortable furs, and though
a striking appearance cut, ne'r
did this ole codger (fit as a fiddle
with tall slender build),
said middle aged man
appeared quite becoming.
An aura, charisma, dogma
amazingly graced stalwart, gestalt,
deportment aie
found added an air of charming debonair,
esteeming flair, genteel heir
which tasked guessing years old,
aye presumed him to exit the uterine lair
at least a few score tours round oblate sphere
as aspect of youthfulness played across his eyes
one colored green like a spring day in the country,
the other jetblue sans burnin'
four pearl jam oyster cult year.
Snoring bush pig
Relishing in reverie like a hog
Trudge on day-dreaming
Wandering beyond yonder
Think of no blunder in wonder-trance
Junking the Fourth Estate
Jumping at the Fifth Columnist Estate
The men in trance
Unsuspectingly saddled with the
Family’s mantle of leadership
Their eyelids basking to write
Their smiles determined to rite
Their yawn yawning to be tasked
Their heads rearing to go nodding
Like an Agama lizard
Their pen roaring with passion to
Dot nothing but ink
Their hands jostling to paste articles
As they took over
We dreamt of turn over
But they added nothing over
Except for our left over
Alas !!!!
We were all hoodwinked
They deluded us into something
Their leader gallivanting all over for nothing
In the mad rush for anything out of something
They foolishly lavish nothing
But Indolence of something
Vanishing into lethargy of nothing
Ink they could not dot
Meetings they organise not
Programmes became a thing of rot
September 24th Lecture of Late Layi Balogun
Our late Grand Patron went without a piece for lot
The family had survived
A silver jubilee this year
But with everybody in trance
Sleeping and snoring heavily
Soaring to nothing actually
When queried
They wink hush-hush eem-eem . . .
With a promise of something in vanity
What men are these?
For half a pen year
No child was born or adopted
Into the lovely family
For they slept snoring under
A tree called Fig
What men are these?
But . . .
May be . . .
But . . .
May be we should take solace
And console ourselves with courage
That those who sleep and snore
Can be woken up with water
And fire to figure out the unrepentant fig
We should for the last time
Live in another Paradise of illusion
That those that are in trance
Will wake up and refuse to die
It is only then
That a new family will be born
To restore the fading glory
Of the once glorious 25 years old JC family
The time is now!
The time is now!!
Now is the time!!!.
Alayande Stephen Tolulope
Immediate Past President, Journalists’ Club,UI
For and on behalf of Past Presidents,Journalists’ Club,UI
Oct.2nd,2005
9.45am
Form:
The singularity of my voice,
Wailing out in this dark, wild, and philistine-infested wilderness
Today; Its uniqueness alone amongst several million babbling,
Balbutient tongues, and inked pens and platitude-riddled pages on blinking
Computer monitory screens,
The intelligible and the inane,
The incomprehensible and the uncomprehending:
The pretenders to literature's throne and the
Imposters of the immortals of poetry, drama, essay and fictive literature, as well as history and verse,
None of whose utter sublimity can these modern dolts and interlopers ever hope to assay.
He who writes these words with a swiftly flagging, already dying ember of hope,
Has cried aloud in the midst of all the untamed, inky wilderness
Almost all of his life and particularly has he done so over
The course of the past lustrum, and never once was
He heeded, this involuntary
Modern Jeremiah-
Yet, if I recall my scripture aright, initially as did Jonah,
He did not wish the task, either:
That task with which the Lord charged and tasked him.
3. Though the age of the razor has for much more than an epoch,
And more like a century, been upon us, yet its mastery in
These times seems to have departed, like chaff upon the blowing wind.
Where is the clean and well-shaven face?
Where is the clearing, the meadow in all this wilderness of unkempt, untamed facial fur?
What ancient Jewishness has enthralled man so that now he
Daily practices the dubious art of the bearded?
Of all the multitudinous arts, precepts, practices,
Tenets, manners, and accouterments of the archaic Judean:
Many moral, upright, righteous and uniquely salutary:
Why has only the one betokening only the densely furred face
Has modern man sought to assay?
Even the author of this poetic, parodic
Jeremiad, even he, who is in fact I;
I say even he has felt the furry, follicular,
Hirsute hordes encroach full upon and in beleaguering it,
Make invasive inroads upon his Grecian deific countenance.
And aye, even that of his father's too....
ANd virtually every other man he knows,
About whom is this screed against shearing indolence, grooming sloth being written.
Form:
Looking through the window
Everything seems like a puzzle
His coming ought to rekindle
Instead all have dwindle
Change is all we asked
Not knowing they were masked
Although they were tasked
Everything remain the same
Three square meal
Has become dream
Off course to the peasants
Their people
Have become cable
That is seen in every neighborhood
Across their neck
Is a wood to inflict wound
On people
Although they claim is for their cattle
But we sure know better
Funny it may sound
They are like sand
That is seen everywhere
Ministers have become blisters
In the hands of the peasants
The name may be lai
But the parents mean lie
Truth they say they speak
But lies we know we hear
The cost of living
Has made the peasants livid
Tomatoes have grown toes
Out of the market
Yet store houses grow millions of naira everyday
The planter we know not
The keeper we know not
The owner we know not
Oh my father's land!!
I hear there is a change
A change we never asked for
Is it an America based president?
Or the federal palace has a new headquarter?
No one knows the answer
Oh! Nigeria my father land
Its now in a farther land
Where can be reach by the rich
The ruled have no clue
Instead they have been gripped by grippe and grief
We were told that the arena was filled with milk and honey
What we now see is Sickness and mourning
Men on black have become terror and horror
Off course to the peasants
Need less to say , they are morons
Protection have been substituted for extortion
The white men see them as gods
Here, they are best described as dogs
On them are lies instead of lice
Law makers;
I mean,
Law breakers
Are the least of the shame we now have
We now have wrestlers in our chambers
Maze have become swords
Automatically our chambers have become battle field
Their shame has become their fame
Wooowuuuu
The erudite are not left behind
In fact they are fart that has polluted our arena
Years after years
Justice have been denied
We need TRANS-CHANGERS!!
We need transformed men and women!
Not transformation!
We need changed men and women!
Not Change!