Long Uncaring Poems
Long Uncaring Poems. Below are the most popular long Uncaring by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Uncaring poems by poem length and keyword.
Within the fragile frame of my fervent heart,
tinged with the tinsels of the amorous night,
my love gleamed with an enticing shimmer,
reflected by the sequins of your subtle grace.
In my enthralled psyche I felt the tempting touch
of your intangible mesmeric charisma,
but you sauntered away from my entranced sight,
like the autumn cloud across my dream sky.
From the ebony edge of the night of despair
storm clouds surged with thunder of tearing strife,
splintered my dreams, dispersed them in debris,
as you turned into a devastating whirlwind.
The miasma of pervasive melancholy enveloped
the shattered landscape of my languished longing.
The solemn sigh of its drifting sense of desolation
trailed the dissenting resonance of painful severance.
Your flouting footsteps trampled uncaring
my emotive flower as you departed unconcerned.
Its crumbled petals in anguish made a bouquet
for the wreckage pile of my broken heart.
In the cauldron of hope I distilled pain for nepenthe,
drank the elixir, entered the domain of forgetfulness.
Before my collapsing conscience weathered the soul,
I arose sane from the dust, saw the beauty life was.
When nobody embraced you to stop
those tears from falling and restore
your sense of existence which relied on prayer,
not entirely on my comprehension and thought;
this guilt was my eternal damnation not
to have given an apology in a timely manner....
No scar is deeper than this one
when the weight of remorse can't be laid to rest,
long before I said all the unpleasant words,
I should have considered kindness,
and took a closer look at the pitiful one;
I ask myself how I resorted to madness!
Some men intentionally hurt their sweethearts,
feeling no compassion in their accusations,
and keep on lashing at them as if they were the guilty ones;
o most of us are the delirious fools acting on a stage without an audience,
where we don't see ourselves as we actually are, weakening the fortitudes
of those we should love and hold to our chests!
No scar is deeper than this one,
hidden in shame for the fear of revealing its pain...
somewhat indignant and reluctant to come out and face alone
the punishment for its malevolent intent;
and what can torment us is this conscience tarnished by stain,
so why be heartless and uncaring when love can heal our hurt?
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
The lovely thought of being remembered...
rarely crosses the unperceptive mind
of the uncaring ones who live life all for themselves,
and one day soon...all that will change;
on their last, expiring breath...
they cannot call on anyone who's not standing by!
How I like to be remembered...
is to think of me as simple and wise,
loving as true as anyone else; no regret
for having been helpful and kind!
And this name will be honored and read out aloud
by a generation that never knew me at all,
and it's the legacy of an undying spirit:
still challenging and vibrant!
Many great men and women have come before me,
and I don't call myself the greatest...most certaintly;
this decision is left to the lovers of literature;
all they will see is my distinguished signature
on the bottom of each poem and song...
how wonderful it would be to hear them recite and sing along!
On my tombstone...in a country not of my own, flowers
will bob upon my gleaming grass,
and undearneath the cold soil I will rest;
and my body will become a skeleton without flesh;
it's everyone's destiny to turn into dust,
until we are resurrected by that Almighty voice!
Like the very fragile petals of a rose,so perfumed,
that will scatter before the flight of the gull;
I'd like to float as brightly as these after dawn:
to be elevated by my spirituality
and reach that place of profound serenity,
thinking how I like to be remembered...
The wind sweeps over my bikini
and combs through my hair
This canoe ride.. is like a glass of red wine
The Naked grape my favourite kind.
I feel at peace...............
For the first time, in a while
completely rid of my anxieties
The sun embraces my skin
My china doll ceramic is so accepting
My golden retriever fearlessly jumps off the dock
he flies
He seeks adventure and see's life for what it is
You see because life is two people throwing a frisbee.
Chasing the disc back and forth desperately in hopes of the one momentarty tasting his own
personal victories
Or those moments where you throw back your hair to the wind
Uncaring for the consequences
This is how he lives
My golden retriever is the essence of living,, unaware of how his actions may be percieved
as emberrassing.
Because he lives how he feels free, and when your free
your mind explodes like a dying star and is reborn into a forming galaxy
That is all he needs.
When is it in life that we as humans just accept life for the catch and release
The elegant flight of the greek discus
When we should be tossing away our laptops, and blackberries
I'm sick of fashion magazines
telling me what is the right skinny
Because I have two skin cascadian mountains erupting from my chest
I have hips like the sticks of dynamite
and nile river torso
and a bottom that is as flat as a pizza dough
You realize the quirks and aspects that make you as an individual
BEAUTIFUL
Live like the dog that is hidden in the back of your mind
find the little things that make you gratified
Love the people around you, and celebrate their arrivals like a carnival
Eat your bowls of food like they were your last meal
Lay out on the carpet as if you lay in a bed with sheets made from Egyptian Silks
This is the way to live your life I am telling you
it's a story about a henpeckked husband
that catered and spoiled
his wife.
one day he fixed her beef tougue and cabbage soup
her friend was in attendance
so she smiled and became mean and uncaring
and cursed him.
day's later when he mustered up the courage to
speak to her, her cornered him
and cursed him in the corner
not allowing him to leave.
silently he would never complain or mention
it to his friends.
one day a gentlemen in the market asked
him why does he shop
so much.
he told him, I shop to feed my family.
oh, the gentlemen said you have a family,
yes he said, a wife and twelve children.
the gentlemen looked at him strangely, for a while.
do you live near twelvestone manor, the husband said why yes I do.
oh, the gentlemen said: you're that that chick beats up
cause you wouldn't stop getting her pregant!
I Repeat the Same Mistakes
I repeat the same mistakes like a forgotten prayer,
I write for a woman who doesn't even feel the trembling,
The faint trembling of my existence in her blind universe,
And yet I wait for her like a fool who knows better than that.
But I starve for every accidental stolen glance,
Like a thirsty heart waiting for a single drop of water,
A drop of water to fall from her indifferent eyes,
From her eyes that never cry for me at all.
And when our eyes meet for the smallest second,
For that second stolen from her indifferent eternity,
My entire soul leans forward like a beggar,
Pressing everything I've ever felt into the thin silence between us.
Telling her things I'll never have the courage to say aloud,
Things that die in my mouth before they're born in air,
But her gaze never stays, it slides past me,
Untouched, unaffected, unaware of my silent catastrophe.
And I return to the distance she didn't want to create,
But that somehow keeps widening like a living abyss,
So I sit with my loneliness like an old friend,
Letting it settle around me like a familiar shadow.
And I replay the moments she doesn't know she gave me,
Even the way she looks past me inattentively,
Uncaring, unintentional, seems to me a fragile thread of hope,
To a heart that already knows it has no place beside her ever.
And yet, I keep writing like a madman who loves his madness,
Because this is the only way to remain close to her,
Close to the woman who has no idea how deeply she's loved,
By a love that asks for nothing because it knows it has no right.
She is not much outspoken this one
Ever quite mulling over what knows God
Her effect is she has one always second guessing
Never quite sure if you have the right desired vibe
If you don’t watch her body language she is easily cross
Her nature is intriguing while unsettling in equal measure
I pride myself on my perceptional capabilities yet me desire more
What makes her passionate for you can hardly fault her as uncaring
What makes her angry and what is it she hiding behind that ulterior look
Our people have a saying where the waters are calm the pool runs deep
I am unravelling her turning stones for there’s so much she holds from others
Should it be that I let her be unperturbed she will never leave her holed cocoon
She is a beautiful butterfly I pray not a moth drawn to the fiery light of a lantern
Only to suffer a fiery annihilation at the hands of the naked lantern flame so besought
What of me do I have the patience or do I snap and walk away hoping she’d but open up
Am I head over heels in love or falling over a cliff I am too a tad mysterious dear not easily read
Let me send you the North wind and harken to my voice you South wind go hastily to my lover say
Why all the trials beloved do’ open the doors that I might gain entry let the peoples rejoice in our love
So as it was the hills of Bashan and Sion sang with merry when my lover did accept me into her hands Bebi Carol Eeh Le mi Rimi leo me luv you.. you remind me of Cleopatra and his Ceasor love unceasing
#Code_254_Musings_Of_Rimi
#Beloved_Of_Rimi
Really like to Hear My Name
By Franklin Price
7/20/2016
Really like to hear my name
Yelled by the massive throng
My family cheering with them
Telling me where I belong
I'm here to save the country
That has fallen by the side
Here to make it great again
Not just coming for the ride
It has made a billionaire of me
I would like to pay it back
It's why I'm living in a penthouse
Not a run down beaten shack
Have more than ever needed
I think I've made that very clear
That's why I run for president
To bring it to the ones who cheer
Not saying they will get the same
In this great land of the free
Only that they'll get the chance again
To have the opportunity
Want to end the great uncaring
The selfishness we have today
Make us a team who plays together
In the Founding Fathers' Way
Many don't believe this
That it's the reason that I came
They think I'm selfish just like them
And really like to hear my name
Jungle Drums
Well known was Molly by gossips
Words fell so easy from her lips
They always found ready ears
Revered was she amongst her peers
A casual meeting Molly made
Good conversation she displayed
Invited then to mothers meeting
Where received a rapturous greeting
For all the ladies gathered there
Knew Molly had a tale to share
About the folk at forty eight
Procured across a garden gate
Passed along tongue to tongue
It must be right, it can’t be wrong
Second hand, thrice removed
Each time the details are improved
Behind her curtains, Mrs Rose
Who sees all that comes and goes
From her shadowy oasis
Offers Molly on the basis
What she tells her will be treated
With respect and not repeated
Knowing only far to well
Molly cannot wait to tell
Everyone she knows
All she’s gleaned from Mrs Rose
And Peg the paper shop assistant
Said “It’s true”, she was insistent
She had heard the news confirmed
By Mrs Smith, who had learned
About the tale and of course
From a most reliable source
It’s not hard to understand
How she holds them in her hand
Like ducklings on a pond to feed
Molly delivers to their greed
Her listeners are now captivated
By her words uncomplicated
Said with such simplicity
Masked by dark duplicity
Who would believe, ill intent
From a face, so innocent
Having spilled out all her news
Others offered up their views
Ever wilder each new claim
Fending, proving, placing blame
Then Ginger Adams put her spoke in
“ I had heard, “She’s done her bloke in”
With a glare from Molly’s eye
Ginger just wanted to die
For she had not learnt quite yet
Where the sights they should be set
Which appears to be somewhere
Between uncaring and unfair
With no way to recognize
Which be truth and which be lies.
Please forgive the implication that this behaviour is
exclusive to the fairer sex, it is simply for the purposes
of this write. I have known men that easily equal any
woman in this sphere of life, and be just as catty, hahahha
I took it all for granted. The sky, the stars, the wind,
the flowers, the grass, the trees.
I expected to see my friends every day,
it was boring, dull, humdrum, if you please.
In my mediocre mind-set, I was walking to a friends’ house,
not enjoying a breeze.
Not paying any attention to the sky, the wind,
the flowers, the grass or the trees.
When I am grabbed from behind, very hard and fast, a murderer’s plan.
I am wrenched off my feet, and thrown into a hard, cold, uncaring van.
Chloroform is placed on my face, and I think I am going to the promise land.
I am out like a light, at the mercy of a non-writing rock and roll band.
I awaken on a firm mattress in the corner of a dark and dank cage.
Hey! Long-hair yells, she is awake. Let’s make her write us a poem or a page.
I sit up and glare at the four identically dressed men whose plan in unhinged.
If they think I am writing anything for them, they should try and think again.
You are our prisoner, one tells me, in a really snotty, uppity way.
Yes, you can have food and stuff, but you are going to definitely stay
Until you write some songs for us, and they better be a hooray
Or we can get rid of you, for we are musicians, and we do not play.
They kept me for six years, when I never saw a park, dog or the sun.
Caged in a day care center with a bunch of two’s
would have been quite a bit more fun.
Wrote many songs, about a clever woman who tricked her captor
into letting her run,
But she got caught up in their drama,
this intelligent slippery songwriter of one.
For years I did not see flowers, trees, or anything I used to not see.
Beauty I used to take for granted, and not care about,
obtuse, I could be.
I did not see the stars, the sun, the snow, the moon,
or my maniacal mean cousin Lee.
Prisoner until I had written songs for them,
magic number six hundred eighty-three
Written 3-23-2019
Contest: Freedom to nothing is something
Sponsor: Deliah Ventura