Long Temper Poems
Long Temper Poems. Below are the most popular long Temper by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Temper poems by poem length and keyword.
Listen to the tap…tap…tapping; the music of falling rain.
Sky rinses out it’s watering cans; It’s sprinklers are the clouds.
Gaia’s children are thirsty; roots stretch and heartily drink.
Gardeners collect water for the drier days; the children drink.
Rain barrels freshly filled; gardens will flourish; grateful for the rain.
When it’s all over; plant bellies full; time to move on, to the clouds.
All life needs water to replenish itself; happy to oblige, are clouds.
Nothing survives without such refreshment; life needs a drink.
When heavens display a temper; be glad that there’s rain.
Celebrate the rain, when the clouds of life roll in; your spirit needs a drink.
He would be king, oh yes, he would
if there was a way he could.
He'd be ruler of the realm
unquestioned captain at the helm.
The lies and truth would flow intermixed
with no one left to decipher the hijinks.
A wall would stretch across the states
blocking all openings at the gates.
He would be the reigning unchallenged emperor
none dare speak aloud lest rise his temper.
In the background stand all supporters
not daring speak or be overcome by words and mortars.
His future lay in wait just biding time
to grasp his kingdom most sublime.
The average citizen is low down in the ranks
as he claims control of law and every bank.
His relationship with countries east and west
shower them with warnings of his threats.
The world is thrown back to medieval times
where he is king and innocent of any crimes.
With money and power comes absolute rule
and the masses below are part of the fuel.
Clinging to the folly of his wild and radical whims
with no plan or agenda in place he would begin
The cry rings out
to those with doubt -
Off with their heads
lost be democracy's last thread.
He would be king, believe me he would
if it were possible he surely could.
Hello there, do please come inside- no need to wipe your feet
excuse the mess, I fear you'll find it isn't very neat.
This place is always untidy, victim of my disorder
from old hang-ups to memories, I'll admit I am a hoarder.
In here hanging like mobiles, noisy, at odds with my feelings
are life's little distractions, niggling, swinging from the ceiling.
Careful with your torch, don't shine it underneath the bed
beneath it there is lurking a dark sprouting creeping dread.
Most people couldn't live with it, a disturbing thing to some,
as it cowers in the corner from the things still yet to come.
Tread lightly in the corridor, just mind out where you walk
you'll trip on my anxiety that bobs up like a cork.
The fire is stoked, the hearth is swept and logs stacked in a heap
my warmth to all well tended (well, except when I'm asleep).
Cardboard tubes in disarray, and more you cannot see-
plans I drew up in the past, none ever meant to be.
Mannequin in veil of black, arms raised as if to dance
with all my past relationships that never stood a chance.
This rocking chair, my temper, that sometimes I must sit in
and you'll notice that the varnish of my patience has worn thin.
My sense of humour's in the loft, protected by my hats
seemed like the right place for it, since my friends all think I'm bats.
That one small window by the beam lets my faith's light shine in
I'm sorry it's not brighter, window dirty from past sin.
Still, I can climb and open it to aim my telescope
for somewhere in the darkness lies the faintest glimpse of hope
that keeps me living here in peace and shelters me from sad;
you wonder why I live in here? Well, out there-
its just mad!
September16th 2015
For contest 'Inside my head'- sponsor John Lawless
I'm believing that next year,
will be better than the last,
One thing for sure,
I won't dwell in the past.
I cannot recall,
anything easy or simple,
The entire year,
I'm in pain and a cripple.
I can barely walk,
my hips will not engage.
I feel helpless,
and my temper is in a rage.
I'm not able to work,
you could say I'm a gimp,
Being handicapped,
no place for a wimp.
I can't get no help,
from social security,
Government offices,
run on inefficiency.
I'm not even able to get,
decent medical attention,
This blows my mind,
out of my comprehension.
I have a friend,
who helps take care of me,
Looks like old age,
is not hassle-free.
January first,
I will have Medicare,
They charge me 150.00 a month,
I have not a penny to spare.
I went to court,
a judge ruled in my favor,
This is where,
things began to waiver.
Every month,
I struggle to pay my rent,
Social Security,
gives me grief and torment.
I hang in there,
because this year will be a better year,
If nothing else,
I'm implored to persevere….
TURBO1904
To frolic amongst the daisies and posies is to relish
in the sweet drink of victory over a despicable,
old, and much-sought-after foe.
It is a feeling akin to splashing cold basin water
upon the face after hard work—lips chapped
by sun, sweat, and the long, tired day crowded
amongst them.
Reclaim possession; bring it home.
Long has this expected arrival been awaited;
arrangements have been in accordance with plans
premade for preparations upon this date.
Man dares not tickle the fickle temper of these
sisters of fate. Complaints remain an undertone, and
resentment answers not to “Pardon” on and on again.
In their ever-glow elegance, brilliant
refractions sway off their decadent dress.
Jellyfish patience is slow, a romantic cadence.
Contracting movements make the sway
feel like a swarm in the warmth of the elicit impress.
While I sat at a sofa
In the living room
I looked everywhere
No one was there
My parents sleeping, my sister sick
And I am waiting for the bus
Suddenly the made called for me:
The bus louzana
So I carried my stuff and off I went
Sitting in the bus…
My sister and I not looking
At each other
My shoulders, back and arms paining me like hell
I await my death that is in my mind everyday
While I spoke to lina & she so stubbornly acted
I tried to act grown- fully
I tried to let down my temper
And so I thought and regretted
I didn’t do a thing to say
I did not hurt a soul to cry
Then I got sad and very mad
I wish and so I wished
If he will ever talk to me again
Its been three weeks
And there was not even one reply
And so I looked and I thought
I tried to change the topic
But it remain grabbing my mind’s attention
Oh I humph why, why and why?
Where did my rising sun go ?
Where did my angel of love fly?
I am left alone,
Not to be loved…
Not to be taken…
Let’s be a teacher I said to myself.
I know how to add and put books on a shelf.
It will be fun I said to my mind.
Are you daft in the head? Takes one of a kind!
The children are crazy.
And frankly you are too lazy.
They will do things so bad.
And you get so ridiculously mad!
It’s all about test scores
You will see lots of bores
It will be hard to do.
You will throw your shoe
Your temper you will lose
And you will make the news
You will be exhausted and tired
It is not the way you are wired!
Teaching is not the job you see
You do not have the temperament to be
In a room all day long with a bunch of kids
So I put my ha-ha dream on the skids.
For crying out loud America!.
Because of you I'm unemployed!
I can no longer threaten you with violence..
And I'm really very annoyed.
It's my job to make you fearful..
I'm an extremist and political threat..
But you are shooting each other in mass numbers..
And that was my job.. or did you forget?
How can I now be a Martyr?
You've stolen the World nightly news!
Another mass shooting in America!
Someones bad temper has blown a fuse!
You no longer fear the terrorist..
I'm no threat to the way you live..
However.. you fear thy neighbour..
You'd rather shoot and kill instead of forgive.
On a lower branch of a crooked mango tree ,
Flapping wings and shining tail , in charge
Perched the happy rooster steady and free,
Intending to view his surroundings at large ,
And announced sharp : cock- a- doodle - doo :
' Know that after all the world is mine too '.
From the cloudy grey sky , like an alien
Descended a peacock in all blue and green ,
Jiggling crest and dangling super-tail in wont mien
And in proud stance began afresh to preen ,
Intimidating the little aborigine with a scream
Aloud to defy all and claim to be supreme
Minutes lapsed before the ice was broken
As the intruder in a half- friendly way said ,
Poising : '' Of what entity are you a token..
'' Your feathers are but greenish black and red ;
'' Yet is there pride in quarrels and crowing vanity ,
'' To end up as a delicacy for the humanity '' .
The other lost his temper and did thus retort :
' Perhaps you know not how they relish
' Even their drinks , naming my tail smart ;
'And more , their menu we do, forever replenish ;
'For sporting too ,each kills the other with spur ,
' Truly a cringing thing to shame and abhor ' .
Amused , the artiste with the left foot
Straightened the talons and popped down in style
And as the clouds became heavy and acute ,
With feathers blue, green and brown, the while ,
Shining in full bloom and span, danced: a spell !
Rhythm, quiver and numerous eyes - a marvel !
Thus went the rival feats of the fowls twain
While from behind the thick foliage unseen ,
A cuckoo began its sweet song in pitched strain
To match the mood and melody - abstract and keen ;
Somewhere in the distance the grey clouds began
To jump down in drizzles and droplets to scan .
Un-revelling Rivalry
Who am I to speak of historical rivalry I cannot contest
all the clever myriad truths conjectures and refutations
about the two masters the two foes with huge presence
when history acclaim appreciation is subjective personal
up front and back stage up all artistic ins downs and outs
My parachute helicopter mind wants to give first prize to
to Leonardo for free flying inventive rebellious mind and
he helped me with anatomy dissecting corpses and all I can
still smell fragrant formalin preserving miraculous tissues
when I had to learn those medical terms and cut into flesh
But then Michelangelo shares my middle name though I am
no angel but who can proclaim that I may never be biased in
associate vein in quite shallow post-post-modernist anticipation
when the great man also painted in narrative personification
Deluge Drunken Noah Creation of Adam Madonna and Child
Okay family man that I am I resort to holidays with my children
and am so sad to admit that we never so far made it to Rome
sacrilegious or not but how could I pass The Last Judgement
when seeing Sistine Chapel’s altar would alter the verdict
of Ignoramus with leisure time spent on Normandy’s beaches
Well now I recall that trip to Euro Disney when we walked
from Tour Eiffel to the Louvre where I temporarily lost my
little boy Moritz and almost my temper when the devious villain
hid from the artwork was sulking because the Mona Lisa was
so small and he was so tiny could not see amongst masses of
tourists the smile and metaphorical writing on canvas and wall
So in all earnest while giving a toss I could-would have to resort
to tossing a coin in regards to whom why how and whenever the
rivals could measure up to history my history my story and life
Even and because of my whacky literal critical stance and my
stanzas bordering on mockery heresy subtle subjectification
you must remember that I have one tongue and two cheeks
And while seemingly ridiculing an important theme of historical
prominence I still bow in awe admiration yet lodge my own angle
perspective whereas the two grand master’s problem was not
what I would behold in my eyes and my soul in full radiance but
that they chose not to consider each others contrasting beauty
as compliment complement Leonardo Angelo Michel Da Vinci
01st September 2016