Long Trivial Poems
Long Trivial Poems. Below are the most popular long Trivial by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trivial poems by poem length and keyword.
Jealous, Jealous, Jealous
The swiftness of the Vessa just killed me,
That speed and the grandeur of the seat,
The frame’s shine and the four wheels free,
The maroon leather upholstery neat.
The diagonal pattern on the seat and back,
Which made diamond shapes all over,
Reminded me of Pringles golf wear sack,
That sportsmen buy, their goods designer.
The prestige of owning one was immense,
A Vessa with thin black joystick, gray box,
Orange on/off button for your own sense,
To use wisely to be the batteries’ prox.
That privilege, that air that they all held,
Even made their severe disabilities trivial,
Counted them as people who so gelled,
With normality, the cool and the convivial.
I couldn’t walk at all well, sore feet often,
And in Primary Two asked of my physio,
That she give me in order to cheer, soften,
An electric wheelchair for my portfolio.
I wasn’t asking for a Vessa, not at all,
Just a Bec, ‘cos that could be anyone’s
They were blue, just for indoors, did stall,
And there were some just sat there, tuns.
My feet got sore and I was badly in pain,
Because mum insisted on Clarks shoes,
Old fashioned, hard, so I did complain,
Ås I saw trainers that would fit my toes,
My mum’s strict faith said no to sense,
No to love and yes to abuse, I’d loose,
So I explained to my physio, no nonsense,
That Christianity meant my pain, choose.
My mum thought trainers were worldly,
Demonic, non-Christian, rough and sinful,
But I didn’t know my credibility fully,
And so my physio said no more mouthful.
I knew it would’ve given me a life,
A mouth, a mode that could let me talk,
‘Cos I couldn’t talk and walk, my strife,
Together, simultaneously, talk and walk.
So at school I was always jealous,
Of those with a Vessa who got respect,
From every staff member zealous,
To enhance their freedom prospect.
I got my Vessa at university, shiney,
But I saw it rationally and with thought,
Understood something had blatantly,
Gone wrong, since it I’d only just bought.
But I appreciated my Vessa so much,
At Uni, no-one knew the status or fuss,
That’d been attached to it, not to touch,
At my special school, uh ha, for all of us.
Boston Legal raises jurisprudence burdens of proof to a more realistic level
Observant fans of Bergen, Shatner, Spader, David Kelley could be seen as rebels,
Savoring games of assault and battery on real life large and small actualities
Testifying every act negligent or malfeasance and trivial grotesque fatalities.
Opinionated obscure minds, open up objectionable hearts and bankrupt eyes
Negligently embracing the politicians easily spoken but perjured lies.
Larceny lessons from history's changing more lenient laws is unmistaken
Evidentiary episodes expunge the human condition without real exoneration.
Guilty grievances gain feelings of raw emotional desire for monetary recovery
Arresting allegations appealing callous affidavits of due process inspired discovery
Legal litigations of ridiculous actions sequester every man's cross examination.
For - Your Favorite Habit-Forming TV Show - poetry contest
Thank you David E, Kelley- creator of shows like Ally McBeal and Boston Legal. you stinker.
The continuous clock of Heaven
moves in silence
as we travel the trials and tribulations of life
Could that we notice when we concern ourselves
with the trivial small things that matter not to God
Each season comes, Each season passes
we grow older each time through its passing
Happiness is fleeting, Sadness is fleeting
Our lives are fleeting
The words were given to understand
to find wisdom in
They are alive in their truth
first, we must open our blind eyes
from our own darkness
Only then, will we comprehend God's meaning
Ecclesiastes 3:1 to 3:8
contest Favorite Scripture
6/5/20
I learned very early on that LIFE was a game,
and so many times I have been in a MOUSE TRAP;
any mistakes I made along the way- no one else is to blame,
my twisted journey has been a labyrinth map.
I have no CLUE why things happen the way they do,
with paths and pits of TROUBLE and chances like rolling dice;
but without fear I have into the darkness flew,
and failing and falling over and over- I have paid the price.
Have been in a TRIVIAL PURSUIT for deeper meaning,
I have known conquests and conflict and RISK;
but on the Almighty Lord in times of pain- I am leaning,
I send a prayer but do not expect an instant fix.
Winning is much like MONOPOLY decisions,
and with a jumble- SCRABBLE of choices I pen words;
so, the world will know my sorrow and visions,
and then, I send my words drifting like beautiful birds.
You may think oh, BALDERDASH to what I am writing,
but my existence is an intricate OPERATION worth fighting.
_____________________________
February 15, 2019
Poetry/Rhyme/Anyone Game
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1115-227-19
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Anyone Game?
sponsor, Carol Connell
Third Place
Where Did My Life Go
Kevin Davis 2025
Where did my life go—how was I to know,
That I would grow old, and still, I’d grow—
To learn the things I never knew before,
Just in time, like autumn leaves upon the floor.
When I was younger, I thought I knew it all,
People would ask me questions—so small, so dull.
And somewhere deep within my busy mind,
The answer to their query I would find.
I was not so smart—just filled to the brim
With trivial facts that others let dim.
Yet somehow I convinced professors, claimed my prize,
Earning degrees and licenses I held with pride.
In modest frames I hung them on the wall,
For all to see what a “smart man” I was, after all.
People would come, and I hoped not to fail,
To find them hope and purpose within each tale.
We’d speak of pain, make plans of care,
Address their needs with compassion fair.
With individuals, couples, families, and groups,
We found the paths that healed—life’s gentle loops.
Now my career has ended, but still, I find
Joy in helping others, peace of mind.
Content to use what I have learned and known,
I find release in the seeds I’ve sown.
Retirement once was a far-off dream,
But now it’s life’s familiar theme.
Yet we retired still have much to give—
Wisdom to share, and reasons to live.
We must live our lives, be valued still,
Loving, needed, with strength of will.
For in this grand symphony, we see—
We have become all we were meant to be.
My muse is still alive, she’s also my wife,
And the best thing about her
Or at least how she relates to me
Is how she finds me amusing.
Interesting, get that, a-musing
Since I am literally not her muse.
And yet muses aren’t by definition serious
Although their impact is
Like the way a new born infant’s is.
So the day they, although not mine, died
Was the day we all began to take everything
We thought and said so seriously
Like who offended who, and why
As if who we really are and how we got that way
Is even a knowable, let alone an observable.
We fuss and fight about the trivial and mistaken
Such as “cultural appropriation”, as if
That isn’t the very means by which cultures grow.
I mean, do I have to be Californian or Jewish
To be entitled to enjoy and wear Levi jeans?
If the world wasn’t meant to embrace appropriating
Then most of the world wouldn’t be using electricity,
Or driving vehicles, flushing toilets, eating pizza.
The world would be a lesser and lonelier place.
And just the fact we doubt it,
Doubt we are good enough,
And don’t deserve to share, and learn and grow
Makes us susceptible to the promise of AI
The next level of intelligence,
Because ours is clearly lacking.
And if the artificial replaces the natural
In culture, art, music, sports, politics,
Science, agriculture and fashion
Then what’s the point of the natural anymore?
And without the natural, the spontaneous,
The unexpected and unexplained,
Then where are we, and what need is there
For a muse?
So, enough with the old history lessons,
If you need something, if you’re lacking
In knowledge or inspiration or advice
Just ask The Machine
It’ll know and tell you all you want to hear.
(6/28/26)
Pained am I with the waste of life,
Of dreams that lie like myriad shards,
Of hopes and love left far behind,
Taking flight on withered wings of
Unrequited expectations.
Sad am I that young roiling blood
Is stilled, silenced, with abandonment.
Where is the burning zeal and zest,
Brash bravado and youthfulness,
Life that thrives on - being alive?
We drink toasts to greatness, success, gain,
Do we empathize with those who fail?
Is what is taught is only that
Our goal by day, and that by night,
Is we've just got to beat the best?
Angered am I to read of death
Of youth who think life's race they have lost,
Laying great store by trivial
Pursuits whose conquest placed above
Life, and limb, and the self itself?
Oh, callow youth, oh innocent you!
A quagmire of treachery and deceit
Life is woefully all about.
You win some points, but lose some more-
With honour take it in your stride.
Carry on regardless with a smile,
Drink a toast to what'er be your lot.
Through wind and storm or sunny days
The days relentlessly zoom by
Always heralding happy cheer!
Blame not the foolhardiness of youth
For life cut short due to shattered dreams.
Blame lies squarely on the heads of
Patriarchs of a synthetic
Society of transferred hopes.
4/27/16
Fluctuations and changes in weather
Forever and ever
Together
Through whatever whenever wherever
For the better
Throughout any endeavors
And adventures
While above and below birds of the same and different feathers
Remember
I would never treat you lesser
Anytime anywhere whether it is or is not interstellar
Near or far away from motion sensors
And the range of any metal detectors
Regardless of if anything I wrote was read
Don't forget and respect what I said
I kid you not, look and think instead
But be sure to not lose your head
Over a trivial amount of bread
While the sky and clouds are colored red
As you stand your ground for what is right in order to keep your family fed
Since way back when
And until the end
Increases and decreases in rpm
At the low and high point of the bend
Many many men
Like to say it all depends
Often, instead of now and then
But it is nothing I'd recommend to myself, family or a friend
Have you ever had a dream
You were falling from the sky
And just before you hit the ground
You jump up with surprize
I’m falling, falling, falling
Just like a shooting star
Don’t hit the ground or else you'll die
It just feels quite bizarre
It does sound quite amusing
But it’s called the myoclonic jerk
To dream the theme of falling
Is a hint that we’ve been hurt
I’m falling, falling, falling
Just like a shooting star
Don’t hit the ground or else you'll die
It just feels quite bizarre
It seems that this is negative
And may affect your life
Because it’s triggered by insecurity
Troubles, anxieties and strife
I’m falling, falling, falling
Just like a shooting star
Don’t hit the ground or else you'll die
It just feels quite bizarre
It could be something trivial
That sparked this dream right off
So take a look at different theories
Don’t just sit and scoff
I’m falling, falling, falling
Just like a shooting star
Don’t hit the ground or else you'll die
It just feels quite bizarre
Your heart just pounding faster
You panic from the start
And as you begin the spiral fall
You’re screaming in the dark
I’m falling, falling, falling
Just like a shooting star
Don’t hit the ground or else you'll die
It’s just feels quite bizarre
You find that you’ve been sweating
The sheets soaked through and through
You can’t remember anything
And can’t explain it too
I’m falling, falling, falling
Just like a shooting star
Don’t hit the ground or else you'll die
It’s just feels quite bizarre
© Copyright 30th January 2014
K.C.Leake
All Rights Reserved
To die an old man, tasks left on slow burn,
And as fake coins do, get reborn ‘pon earth;
Work harder still, more mileage points to earn,
Which, heaven calls goodly deeds well their worth,
To repeat none of careless omissions,
Careful avoiding sinful commissions,
Grow up again and relearn things ere learnt,
Suffer old age again, same helplessness,
Begin and end with diapers no less,
Same hassles of life, oh what a huge stunt!
And yet, there are welcome blessings to fore:
Mother's love— not else in life be so good,
Worth returning to earth often and more,
Another, innocence of the childhood,
And its older version— second childhood,
For small joys, pleasures, life's trinkets so rife,
And that hard lesson learnt in adulthood
That true joys come from trivial things of life.
For sure, this journey of life has odd rules,
Where humans are handed worse punishment—
Being treated no better than draught mules
That must learn things learnt ere— in chastisement,
The karmic fate— there's no meaner kill-joy,
But is not life God's play-act to enjoy?
And still I'd feel, life comes with mixed blessings,
Like coins it comes with two sides: joy and strife,
One may call it tyranny of this life,
Of destiny that in a dual voice sings.
And poor man, whether he likes it or not,
Must empty ere refill his karmic pot!
And still, I love you O life, fall or spring,
I like this journey, pray keep me calling. ……
____________________________________________
Musings | 03.07.16 | Ode
Poet’s note: This first part of the Ode starts with ten lines in the first stanza. Every stanza progressively loses two lines, ending with a pair of couplets. For, each lifespan is supposed to reduce the journey of evolution that ends with Liberation. But as this poem seems in love with life, it continues and carries on.