Long Temporary Poems
Long Temporary Poems. Below are the most popular long Temporary by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Temporary poems by poem length and keyword.
Though (supposedly) only
the good die young, urn holding
cremated ashes a mere cup
full, every last man standing falls,
cuz nobody else
escapes un pup
yule lore blitzkrieg,
or aging gracefully,
the unavoidable eventual fate,
(mortal fateful demise),
sans the remaining unsung
anonymous peoples meet up
with the grim reaper,
who will ineluctably disrupt
the carryings on
with each and every individual
(non plus ultra all other
life forms as well)
gradually or with abrupt,
and unannounced debut
scythe lent lee appearing
to whisk away the
honest and/or corrupt
whether taking their
first meal of the day,
and/or last sup
per, perhaps sitting quietly,
when body electric
amp pare rent lee
receives ohm
my word fatal invite,
whereat permanent shocking
quiescence doth, sans
stealth maneuver erupt
tragically, indiscriminately,
and blithely
mowing down innocent civilians,
and/or training fate squarely
upon heads of soldiers
life during wartime,
where opposing armies regale
while marching men go hup...
to three fore (akin
to a story field day),
winning booby prize, viz
counting on qua,
asper winning lottery
and/or Stanley Cup
major blood bath rendered
significant counting coup
whereat each opposing fighting
force figuratively doth slew
the other, analogously dost defeat
making mince meat
re: as uniformed brigades in heat
of wanton killing
fields sliced minced,
chopped nada so vary neat,
via stealth unable dupe, nor cheat
death be not proud,
et cetera, nonetheless,
grimly forced to greet
a bonanza coup won,
only tubby beat
tin to pulp by adept
skull and excellent fleet
of foot (top
notch crafted) sweet
(albeit) temporary victory
tasting said treat
assailing, bruiting , and/or
weathering stance versus
alternating between defensive
and/or offensive
use of cross bones,
in a hail of bullets
instantaneously didst greet
fast and furious i.e. suffering
deadly raking har row
ring slaughter, an entire
phalanx gone, where
(metaphorical terrible swift sword)
no uniformed fighter
can never call retreat.
I got drunk by my self last night
There was just nothing else to do
I told myself that itll be alright
If I could just get that memory out of sight
My eyes are half closed
From staring down the sun
I’ve been down in the dumps
I’ve had a lot of intoxicating fun
And I’m here to tell you
That life goes on
No matter what happens
No matter how much you hurt come dawn
Remember that hangovers are only temporary
No matter how much they hurt
Sometimes you won’t be able
To have memories of which you revert
The fun is what
Drinking is all about
Remember that yourself
You should never doubt
Instead of drinking in sorrow
And self pity
Get drunk with some girls
Who are kind of pretty
If the good looking ones won’t accompany
In your quest for intoxication
There are always the desperate
In this great nation
Sex is a symbol
Which has made America fine
Naked bodies
So sensually entwined
We are a country
Now based on rules
Created by the greed
Of those political fools
Our rights shall be taken
With the swiftness of the wind
We will not even know
For our perception has thinned
We no longer appreciate
Our gift to be free
And our forefathers
Would most likely agree
We need to stop and rewind
What has our country came to
I think alteration
Is far overdue
We need to remember
What the armed forces died for
Now
More and more
Disgracefully we are becoming
More concerned about police force
What has our country came to?
Shouldn’t we feel at least some remorse?
Pay attention to the news
And you shall see
That this proud country
Is not what it used to be
What have we done?
Is there any way to defend our rights?
There is
You’ve just got to fight
For you must make a stand
This is our home land
We mustn’t have empathy
About this subject at hand
Those who have the power to take action
Have the responsibility to do so
Meaning the tyranny on the horizon
We must overthrow
If we wait too long
We shall face monarchy
Yet rules must be made
For we need not anarchy
Remember what life
Is all about
Freedom is something
We must now bail out
So stand up
Be proud
And in unity
Say aloud
We will not fade into the night
We will not
Be taken without a fight
We’ve done it before
We must do it again
Once more our freedom
Calls for our duty to defend
My life and my love are the open sea. I do not fear her and she has come to respect this old sailor man.
Alas, it may be that my life of bliss is only temporary because a magical conclave has condemned my tidal journey.
Today, you see, I crossed paths with a dark mermaid whose trickery has anchored my adventures with the briny deep.
That salty wench took the wind out of my sails, leaving me as an empty hull, a moored starfish, writhing in the summer sand.
The gypsy mermaid led me astray with her siren song of sea foam trysts and moonlit water dances.
At once my eyes took sight of her damp bosom and over the bow of my beloved vessel I jumped, nary a hesitation.
Stalwart journey lost.
I swam with all my might so that I could lay my weary head among her iridescent scales with the hope of exploring her seafaring mysteries.
In her arms I laid and to my dismay, the spectacle of a creature more hideous than any life form should spawn, violates all that I can see.
With a hiss more guttural than a sea serpent, she opened her maw.
To my eyes appeared a cavernous gap filled with remnants of my beloved ocean life.
Disgust crawled over my skin as I stepped away in horror, the stench of death permeating the air.
Falling back into the wet abyss I could hear the gypsy mermaid sing her song of death all around me.
Harder and harder I raked my bony appendages, struggling mightily to widen the wake until my despair took over.
One last breath and I let my old friend the sea, take me away.
Fluttering slowly into the liquid unknown, I closed my weary eyes and let go.
At once I sputtered to life, woken by a brackish breeze on my check, burning eyes open as my spent body writhed in the hot sand.
My thoughts are a blur, no conscious desire to wonder upon my seemingly swift arrival to the quiet shore.
I live.
While death continues to burn deep within the recesses of my throat and my heart beats, still I feel lifeless.
Death came for me in guise of that gypsy mermaid and I ran to her without pause, arms wide for embrace.
So, it seems not even the cooling swells are enough to secure me this earthly plane.
Clearly my soul longs for life in the blissful, ethereal realm.
Perhaps next time I cross paths with the gypsy mermaid I will give in to her voracious hallow.
Next time.
The whole truth
and nothing but the fu(king truth
That laws, and math, only help solve
local temporary problems,
All of which fall way short
on the infinite needs scale
were we rely on estimates, theories,
and other manmade truths
Still here we are,
alone on a goldilocks planet
All 8 billion of us milling around,
living our lives
guaranteed nothing
other than this moment
and whatever came before
To think otherwise
would be presumptuously human
As for choice is there really any
other than try feed ourselves
and sate the instinct to survive and thrive
We are a civilisation built on
disparate societal values and creeds
Each day is an imperceptible handover
from one generation to the next,
with no guarantee they’ll do a better job
But the real problem is not truth,
It’s why!
Why anything at all,
Why life
Why the fu(k am I asking these questions
I’m apostate, No!
I have little faith, No!
I am honest, No!
A nihilist, No
It’s because I have a sentient,
curious, unapologetic mind
that compels me to ask why!
Sometimes I think
i’d be better off a sponge
floating in crystal clear turquoise balmy oceans
Soaking up oblivious unintelligible surroundings
Indifferent to mortality and the universe,
popping off a few buds every once in a while,
or whatever sponges
brainlessly do to further their species
Such basic life is so very tempting
but just doesn’t sit right
Never to experience love
however fleeting,
Never to endure pain
However crushing,
Never to feel like throwing in the towel,
Even if just to mop blood
off the floor like a sponge
See, I’ve had moments
unimaginably beautiful,
Alongside unconscionably awful ones,
Moments so real
they can’t have been synthesised
by any stretch of any imagination
I believe a God or the universe
created me as a vessel of interpretation
to perceive itself
from my unique perspective
Well not unique per se,
more a personalised handicapped view
I am nothing and everything
in the grand scheme of things
No more! No less!
One that uses swear words
language you may not like,
yet clearly understand
The weirdest part is not the feeling
I’ve written this fu(ked up poem
in previous carnations
It’s my swearing
just seems to be getting worse
By
David Kavanagh
WHAT IS IT
I am thinking of you again
How many times? I cannot remember.
It still causes the same pain.
Burning in my chest, like a white steel ember.
It has been eating at my mind, it is a devastating cancer.
I am writing this now, even though… I still have no answer.
The other day, I tore up my room
In a childish fit of rage,… anger.
But that is not my strongest emotion.
I realized that, with a single tear. I wiped my eyes in shame,
I am not supposed to feel this way.
Although I did…do, I do.
I do feel this helpless pain.
I can always say to you, that we will be able to work it out.
But what is IT, this thing…..
This IT, that lovers, poets and friends talk about.
I have come to terms with this IT.
IT is us. Not our person’s, but our souls.
The two of us united, IT creates a separate entity, which lives and grows:
IT is our invisible bond,
But that is only an after effect.
IT is of dancing beauty,
A representative of our emotional elect,
Each of us selecting and giving,
To this glorious warmth, which is us,
Between us, dancing, soaring, forming something bigger than the both of us.
IT is the selected best,
These gifts we give each other, forever.
For even if we part,
IT will dance in our minds, eternally together,
IT is in me when I am down,
IT is what brings my head out from depression.
IT is what brings back my smile.
IT returns my passion, my life force, my obsession.
A feeling of greatness fills me,
A feeling so real, so powerful.
A deep heartfelt statement.
IT does not need to be worked out.
IT is stronger than any living self.
So, it should be said, that IT will be able to work us out,
Seeing that we are the unsteady ones.
And IT, our emotional creation, I will never doubt.
I am prepared to give every bit of friendship and energy I possess.
Jus t thinking of you, helps.
I enjoy the thoughts of us together.
I sought you not, for the here and now, and I have never believed in temporary
situations.
You are my completed self.
The whole of me, a wealth of joyous sensations.
My happiness is simply;
For you,
From you,
By you,
IT is you.
To end us, is to kill the most beautiful part of life, I have ever experienced.
And if IT dies, so does life, or at least IT will never be as beautiful, since.
Juan A. Rodriguez
Form:
We forget we are like trees, our roots run deep, and far they reach
Unseen they mostly are, hidden out of side, so deep
Some forget them, and their histories and from where they came
Their mothers, mothers, mothers name
And their fathers, fathers, fathers name. These roots our foundation, have many names
Without them, we would not be the same.
And much like the tree, we need nourishment to grow
The right amount of food and water must flow
In and out of our body it goes, like that of the trees trunk in which it helps feed
The trunk is our body , which came from a seed ,that was you in your mother’s womb she like grass that covers the trees seed.
And the soil in which we grow. And then seemingly leave
Seemingly invisible connections, unseen roots still connect us to she.
We grow and we branch, bearing many a fruit, attempting to reach our father in the sky, but never quiet reaching that high,
But still high enough, as the light is clearer here, before we were children, like the little tree, under the cover of many higher other canopies.
Our family and friends, ones that came before, much older than me, but now I am equal in height to the, some them now, stand beneath me. much like one day, the smaller younger trees of today will be equal to me. Children are these trees.
As life is, the seeming passing of things .
The gentle breathe of wind that strokes the face of me, is comparable to the wind that gently shakes her leaves, her canopy sways slowed like a woman’s hair blows in the breeze
He stands in storms,, hail and snow. Nothing will stop his potential growth.
The storms, hail and snow, for us are like the world affairs we undergo.
For it toughens us and makes us stronger, after its low.
For if rain is sadness and sun is a smile .
Then surely, we need a little of both, to understand the balance, like a rivers flow.
For with constant sun, it would always be lacking, needing rain but nothing passing .
As with only rain, it would need sun, either one alone and the tree would stun.
The ups and downs, as it sees the sun rise tall every day, before it falls, only to repeat the journey on a never changing its course.
They were never the tree, that was simply a temporary home, now they return to ether, to nothing, their original home .
We forget we are like trees, our roots run deep, and far they reach
Unseen they mostly are, hidden out of side, so deep
Some forget them, and their histories and from where they came
Their mothers, mothers, mothers name
And their fathers, fathers, fathers name. These roots our foundation, have many names
Without them, we would not be the same.
And much like the tree, we need nourishment to grow
The right amount of food and water must flow
In and out of our body it goes, like that of the trees trunk in which it helps feed
The trunk is our body , which came from a seed ,that was you in your mother’s womb she like grass that covers the trees seed.
And the soil in which we grow. And then seemingly leave
Seemingly invisible connections, unseen roots still connect us to she.
We grow and we branch, bearing many a fruit, attempting to reach our father in the sky, but never quiet reaching that high,
But still high enough, as the light is clearer here, before we were children, like the little tree, under the cover of many higher other canopies.
Our family and friends, ones that came before, much older than me, but now I am equal in height to the, some them now, stand beneath me. much like one day, the smaller younger trees of today will be equal to me. Children are these trees.
As life is, the seeming passing of things .
The gentle breathe of wind that strokes the face of me, is comparable to the wind that gently shakes her leaves, her canopy sways slowed like a woman’s hair blows in the breeze
He stands in storms,, hail and snow. Nothing will stop his potential growth.
The storms, hail and snow, for us are like the world affairs we undergo.
For it toughens us and makes us stronger, after its low.
For if rain is sadness and sun is a smile .
Then surely, we need a little of both, to understand the balance, like a rivers flow.
For with constant sun, it would always be lacking, needing rain but nothing passing .
As with only rain, it would need sun, either one alone and the tree would stun.
The ups and downs, as it sees the sun rise tall every day, before it falls, only to repeat the journey on a never changing its course.
They were never the tree, that was simply a temporary home, now they return to ether, to nothing, their original home .
I have been missing your peck
On my cheek, I put it on check
I’m an emotional wreck, wreck
And it’s barely July 2nd, 2024, gimme just a sec!
Gimme a sec, gimme a sec, sec, sec
Stuck in a thousand ruts, listen to your guts
Shut the front door and give me no more buts
About it, about it, about it, about it now
I’m taking a bow, though I fail greatly somehow
I landed an emotional wreck, wreck, wreck
Gimme a break and I’ll wake up eventually
I understand you’re stranded a wreck, wreck
Give it a sec and we will receive gratification genuinely
I noticed I was an emotional man
When I couldn’t do what I can
When I manage to not drive a van
I feel like a trash can more or less
I feel like I’m in total distress in progress
I’m an emotional wreck, wreck, wreck regardless
I have been missing your embrace
I feel sweat beat against my face
I have been lost with a single trace
Just to receive gratifying vast grace
Vast grace, vast grace, vast, past grace
Still feel like a disgrace…take pace with affection
Laced with a little progress in the right direction
Stuck in a thousand ruts, listen to your guts
Shut the front door and give me no more buts
About it, about it, about it, about it now
I’m taking a bow, though I fail greatly somehow
I landed an emotional wreck, wreck, wreck
Gimme a break and I’ll wake up eventually
I understand you’re stranded a wreck, wreck
Give it a sec and we will receive gratification genuinely
I noticed I was an emotional man
When I couldn’t do what I can
When I manage to not drive a van
I feel like a trash can more or less
I feel like I’m in total distress in progress
I’m an emotional wreck, wreck, wreck regardless
There’s still hope
Don’t you dare mope
I won’t say nope
Laughter and bliss is dope
Hand me a rope
I’ll hang it as I cope
With these mixed emotions…you’re my motivations
Vexation is temporary, so mix positivity potions
Panic and pain will disappear in no time
Oh, we won’t be in a rut anymore, anymore
Vain talk and our mind train will be in its prime
When we get rid of emotions that hurt us to the core
I have been missing your peck
On my cheek, I put it on check
I’m an emotional wreck, wreck
This week has been a major wreck that geeks us out, seek hope out
This week has been a major pain in the rearend without a slight doubt
The weather was just how I liked it
Looking like it would stay dry
The breeze had the sharp tinge of winter
Beneath a low overcast sky
The thick blackthorn hedgerow behind me
Bordered the tangled beech wood
In front was a sowing of Rape seed
The shooting from here should be good
The ditch in which I was standing
Was shallow and recently dried
I put up my camouflage netting
As kind of a temporary hide
I looked across my field of fire
It spread further than buckshot would reach
So I opened my trusty old twelve bore
And slipped two Eley five’s in the breach
I saw something off in the distance
Out on the old bridal trail
I knew straight away it was Reynard
I could see the white tip on his tail
This dog fox was working the hedgerow
Looking for something to eat
In a week or two he won’t be hunting
For vixens will soon be on heat
Then came a sound to my left side
I heard the dry rustle of leaves
I eased off the safety catch gently
And stood still not daring to breathe
Nearby from a patch of dead Teasel
A Pheasant was poking its head
It’s wattles were white as a snowflake
Round it’s eye was a dash of bright red
It’s head and neck seemed to change colour
With a green and blue oil like sheen
It sported a thin clear white collar
The clearest one I’d ever seen
Cautiously into the open
It was only three meters away
I was stunned by it’ breathtaking beauty
This vision is with me today
It looked like a fowl made of copper
Each breast feather tinged with a Pink
And edged with the finest black outline
As if they’d been sketched in with ink
It’s wings were a blend of dark ochre
Mingled with olive brown hue
It’s tail was two thirds of a meter
What was this hunter to do
Quite unaware of it’s danger
It slowly strolled on to the crop
Carefully I raised my shotgun
But something inside me said STOP
No way could I fire at this vision
This beauty by me won’t be shot
I came to an instant decision
Find something else for the pot
I have enjoyed many a pheasant
Washed down with a bottle of red
The countryside here would be poorer
If this lovely creature was dead
The bird by now had become bolder
and had wandered some distance away
With an unloaded gun on my shoulder
I went home having had a good day
I will have bread and cheese for my supper
Form:
I know that I am dreaming
But I am Lucid and in control
I know this place well
And that is why it perturbs me
The departing sun manages to scrape its final rays over the hills to the north
Earth’s finest beach transitions seamlessly,
Into the blood red sky to the east and west
The limbo I feel is very temporary
A gust of salty sea breeze whistles through my lungs and snaps the senses
So I turn my gaze south, and I know why
The walk begins, without purpose, or so it always seems
My toes dig into the sand, a fleeting sensation of cool comfort
I cut my feet on the unseen, but not unfelt
The twinge of pain is fleeting, for I am approaching my friend
The soft moist sand renders control
This is the domain of the remorseless
I should have found what I was looking for by now
The water has become to deep, so retreat I must
Now comes a choice, which way must I follow the shore?
A short debate, because there is only one destination.
The route should be unfamiliar because I have never been to this particular expanse
I follow the slowly receding tide towards a piece of driftwood
My heart starts to race
Excitement and guilt wage war within me
I alter my course, backing from the sea again
The sea that has led me again, without falter
Back on the dry, warm sand I now have a clear view
So I take a seat, a front row ticket
To the highest rated and most polarizing production
Of my own sub-conscious
In front of me lies, breached, a baby shark
Not enough water to allow escape
But just enough to allow it to survive, for now
The dolphin’s fate rests with me, I am its final judgement
This is why I find myself here every so often
Playing the role of that which I so resent in my conscious
There is no debate
What the poor creature has done or not done
After a period of staring blankly at the suffocating animal
And watching the water slowly drain out of reach of its lungs
The time has come to choose
Life or Death
Neither makes me feel much of anything
I stand over what will become, if I let it, one of the kings of the sea
I stare into its cold, helpless eyes
But they are not cold and helpless
They are piercing and brilliant
Emerald green in the shadow, light amber in the light
They are that girls eyes
I had watched the lights close on those eyes once before.