Long Unchallenged Poems
Long Unchallenged Poems. Below are the most popular long Unchallenged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unchallenged poems by poem length and keyword.
Many a poet I know a fool
acting like they know-it-all
many a poet I know a tool
acting like "Mr Poet-all"
unknowingly showing me
their knowledge of poetry
has boundaries surrounding
ideas rebounding around
their impounded grounds
only seeing the same repeatedly
nothing new unfortunately
forever under lock and key
belittling anything new they see.
As a poet I'm not especially traditional
more so "special" writing additional
my raw and new to poetry style
unlike those into poetry awhile
so can I now pick the thoughts
of a traditional poet know-it-all
I believe to be caught in restriction walls
appearing to parrot what taught in schools
see if I perceive conviction in their cause
or robotic perspective their memory stores
too Inspect credentials for signs set in stone
content or unambitious toward the unknown
should I see respect or a moody moan
for new styles outside their own zone
Seemingly their priority is to teach all to try to be
writing unoriginally prevent the mind think free
in a strictly stricken view I see crippling you
never trying new or seeking something else to do
you have regulations on how creativity is written
preventing inspiration thus so negatively driven
speculating with unchallenged repetition
as though been tutored to a limit
you're now failing to ascend merited
having starved all but within it.
So please respect my detected inclination at play
but poetry is a creative artform not set in its ways
and those paved paths you pace and wear thin
were once unpaved before their now adored placing
so shouldn't a creative artform progress and not stay there
wouldn't it go on new quests paving unpaved or
invent realise and find in amaze ways new spaces
not be assigned a confined station like railways
instead seek to new roads or train to fly the skies
cus a closed off mind concealed in a cocoon
denies the butterfly wings the room
like a inverted narrow mind blinds clues
let's preserve and branch from the lay of the track
if poetry stays then poetry slacks but if adapts
poetry won't wear weak crumble and crack
recycling the same will only sink in to the black
I don't want to conform to the common or normal
because I see it as a creative short fall.
So why refuse new styles when you could embrace all poetry?
are you a poet or are you a phoney?
In the melancholic hour of introspection, where twilight paints the sky with sadness,
Religious souls often walk, hand in hand with righteousness,
Forsaking the tender embrace of compassion for the cold certainty of being right,
Clinging to a fragile mantle woven from threads of egotism,
As if their faith could ennoble their identity with divine approval.
In the sacred sanctuary of belief, they build altars to their own image,
Domesticated echoes of God's infinite transcendence,
Reduced to comforting whispers that mirror their desires,
Learning of the Divine as children learn of Santa Claus,
Yet allowing those notions to ossify, remaining infantile and unchallenged.
Oh, irony, as we cast aside Santa’s joyful illusions,
Maturing our visions of myth and childhood fantasy,
While our understanding of the Eternal remains in the naivety of youth,
Unprepared to confront the vast, untamed wilderness of divine transcendence.
Here, in the labyrinth of our minds, echoes of childlike perceptions resonate,
Yet the true divine is an unfathomable abyss, a dance of shadows and light,
Beyond the gilded cages of our self-fashioned sanctity,
A whisper in the wind, a flame in the depths of night.
We baptize our egos in holy waters, seeking absolution for our vanities,
Enshrining our beliefs in stone, unwilling to weather the storms
That might erode our crafted idols, revealing the raw, untempered truth,
Which asks not for our righteousness, but for the tenderness of a compassionate heart.
In this silent pilgrimage through the chambers of our soul,
We must unshackle the Divine from our limited grasp,
Allowing the boundless to flow, to mingle with the currents of our existence,
To guide us through the dark waters of humility and grace.
Let us not forget, in our zeal to be right, the gentle call of compassion,
The holy whisper that beckons us beyond ourselves,
To embrace the transient and the eternal, the darkness and the dawn,
For in that sacred embrace, we find the wondrous, ineffable face of true divinity.
Thus, in the quiet of twilight, among the shadows of our beliefs,
We are called to transcend our domesticated notions,
To embark on a journey of deeper understanding,
Where compassion and humility lead us to the heart of the Infinite,
And righteousness melts away in the light of true and boundless love.
After: "Letter of Mithridates to Phraates, King of Parthia"
Historiae VI by Sallust
*****************************
I am a man more poisoned against than poisoning.
That’s my version anyhow, and I’m sticking to it.
Don’t blame me for having survived a few meals
Which others, less fortunate, could not.
All that doesn’t help me now with Pompey at my throat.
Pompey, plunderer and bully, who has enough wit
Only to command a Materialschlacht,
But that is child’s play with Rome’s support.
Rome! Scourge of cities, tribes, peoples, nations, all mankind,
Were not the Pillars of Hercules, the western shores
Sufficient for your ravenous appetite
That your eagle eyes scan my realm?
O Phraates, King of Parthia still unvanquished,
Had you but lent your ear to me when together we
Might have rid the East of this ill-begotten son
Of Mars. Small the credit, so great the loss!
For Rome, unchallenged, bestrides the Great Sea. Eastwards
He surveys my mountains and your rivers, groves and plains,
No doubt beyond. Remember Alexander,
Who sacked glorious Persepolis.
You vainly sue for peace, like credulous Philipp once
When fondly strung along with Rome’s promises of “pax”.
And what of Carthage? Where now her wealth of gold
And purple? Barren her poisoned lands!
Mind you, I’m not well-placed on a high moral pedestal
When it comes to poisoning, but limits I respect.
A few enemies now and then, I admit,
Died at my table. The ham was off!
But the earth is sacrosanct. I never salted fields,
For Rome’s venom is stronger than aught I ever brewed.
Where shall this end? Shall Rome vanquish all nations?
Shall all cower to his bloody sword?
But Rome! With surfeiting the eaten, not the eater,
Prevails. The whole world is, even for iron digestions,
Strong meat. It is the sun, not Romulus, whom
East and West obey. Helios rules.
With Rome to east and Rome to west, then two Romes are there,
And I do fear for man and earth. The approach of death
Lends men insight. I fought, I won, I lost in war.
My spirit is still king. Sirs, your health.
The last round! Like Carthage we lose to Rome the third round.
Once more is the Gordian knot in twain. Quirites,
The gods look down. Remember Alexander,
Who died of fever in Babylon!
The Government's behaviour firstly no longer defends our church
this mockery in itself shows a deep lack of good sense
or the simple sourced judgement to cast defiance
within this ruling class displayed
Openly liars vulgar hounds with misunderstandings of truthful agendas
as silver lining shines within their beady eyes split tongues brag
poisoned two left feet heading backwards chaos screams from injustice
Milking a treasury for all it's worth then rising the pension age
blindsided are the fools whom are unable to see past the sheriff of Nottingham
Bailing out banks without consent and giving the bankers bonuses
this our rainy day fund feathering someone's nest
We pay through the nose breathing in this capital suffering
creating slaves illegally burdened citizens are chained
dipping into pension funds the existence for this illegal action
hands out always taking never giving
Such corruption goes beyond unchallenged by lawmakers
beggars of the very purse strings
15 million flushed down the toilet for paper postal codes
billions worth of fish harvested out of our Irish sea
Gas and natural resources given away freely
our sovereignty has been removed bit by bit stolen innocence
under false ideas stealing our children's future legacy
leaders without backbones snakes pushing agendas
For free, taxpayer-funded abortions put on the table
in this bill signed with bloodshed to legalise
the killing of unborn babies in Ireland of all places
never thought I would live to see the day
Millions spent on a referendum called choice
incorrectly claiming murder as just
to be an important part of healthcare
our family focus has lost all sense of direction
Challenging the very structure in mum and dad
to begin with motherhood is the single strongest character
filled with loving compassion such are the rights removed basically damned
Every single word into the temple of our origin
death of democracy spilling the most innocent of blood
sacrificed for the sake of pride our nation has fallen
No longer united Irishmen and women a land divided
it is from these spoils of war that's killing our children's legacy
In the labyrinth of stars, where shadows whisper secrets of ancient winds,
The world unfolds in shades of conformity, chaining minds in silence,
While fiery souls, flickering between these realms, seek the unseen tongue,
The language of freedom, pure and wild, defying the script of hollow forms.
Under the vast curtains of night, constellations paint untamed desires,
A silent rebellion against the song of uniformity, an ode to the restless heart,
Every dream, a rebel pawn on the cosmic board, dares to rise higher,
To speak in unsanctioned notes, where the rivers of creativity begin.
Melancholy weaves its silken threads through the minds of those who see,
The facades of gilded cages, the echoes of a masked, blinded world,
For life, in its relentless march, created a hell where truth did not dare exist,
In the hearts of those who shut their eyes, unchallenged by realities.
Yet, in the quiet corners of thought, where muses sing and shadows dance,
There lies a pulse, an uninterrupted rhythm, a whisper of untamed grace,
A rebellion woven in dreams, a silent but powerful advance,
Against the waves of conformity, to carve out a space.
In this river of consciousness, where thoughts flow like tranquil streams,
Blending fate with will, like waves clashing in a stormy embrace,
We wander through the corridors of time, lost in a labyrinth of dreams,
Seeking the unspoken language of freedom, to awaken the spirit's grace.
Life, an eternal sculptor, shapes paths with unseen hands,
Carving both joy and pain alike, in the marble of human hearts,
So let us heed the inner call, to shed the serene veils,
To speak in the language of freedom and embrace our creative parts.
Thus, under the ethereal light of the moon, in this suspended trance,
We murmur secrets to the night, yearning for the fleeting chance of truth,
To escape the scripted chains and let our souls advance,
Into the vast expanse of freedom's fervent dance.
For the language of society may bind the world in chains,
But the language of the creative spirit flows free, unrestrained,
And life will remain a tapestry of hidden, torturous pain,
Until the heart awakens, and the spirit is unchained.
In this plush modern world of convenience
where everything you could want can be sent
to your house with just a single mouse-click,
it’s no wonder men feel depressed and sick.
A sex evolved for hard peril and work,
now just sits around, unchallenged, inert.
More and more I think ol’ Teddy was right,
we have got to choose the strenuous life.
It seems harder to do that now-a-days,
the rough jobs of old have all gone away,
the modern jobs just make your soul scream,
tapping away at keys, staring at screens,
never seeing what comes of your toil
can get a man all anxious and roiled,
what we do for family, and for our wives,
makes it hard to embrace strenuous life.
But in our free time the choice does remain:
Push for you limits, or more of the same.
See this awesome world filtered on the net,
or explore it in person, much better yet.
'Cause no Jpeg made can capture the feel
of a rocky mountain or fast four wheel,
no video made captures country nights,
that’s only found in the strenuous life.
Get out on a weekend to mountain trails,
find a place to rides horses, but watch the tail!
Put a canoe or kayak in a fast stream,
then come back later for some fly fishing
come Fall go out and take part in the hunt,
lay in a garden to soak up the sun,
better still bring along the kids and wife,
give them a taste of the strenuous life.
Try building that deck, don’t hire it out,
harvest your firewood, cut that tree down,
repair you own car, learn it as you go,
read ’till your mind is always in the know,
something impressive once a year do learn,
fill time full of life, you have none to burn,
be something impressive in your kid’s sight,
teach by example the strenuous life.
And though it may seem a challenge at first,
you’ll soon find fulfillment in what you’ve earned,
that you’ve lived a real life, conquered the wilds,
not just spent your time with keyboards and dials,
true achievement fires imagination,
more than mere electronic imitations.
Too much comfort will dull a man’s sharp knife,
give it a keen edge with the strenuous life.
Thumbs Up To The Journey
At the footbridge as it bridges past from present future and perspectives your
feet might be-come and may be-go confused be-fuddled as can your mind before
the shadows rainbows feathered fancy pastel tunes and blues-bound colours
can memories anticipation taking-stock ooze pots and lots of lived experience
re-scribed re-told rewound projected narrated from emotive thoughts
stand still
At the bridge as it cradles the canyon with ladles and measures of the moment
where it spans what once was what you enrich in here and now not there and then the sweeping meadows fields of harvest schisms unions paradigms evaluations can treasures scary scars letting-go liberate scents and stents of living fragrance perceived untold configured touched upon stocked up condensed
reflected wait
The past is yet to come and not withstanding what bridge which side what size
and whence long gone remembrance spins and spans and slows and speeds the motion the sunrise dusk and dawning tapestry mosaic photographic lens sensations can truth reality attitudes and imperfections find soul and solace shared solitude re-modelled shaped anew confronted soothed harmonised
accentuated rise
The future has arrived and has been long projected and the past is living on
where they settle and sizzle on in ember’s glory and ashes to ashes and Phoenix in flight when horizons and boxes un-boxed wriggling worms preceding grave graves can joy pleasure senses and sexes passion peace human works of art in progress accepted invited challenged unchallenged channelled welcomed
gratitude prevail
At the foot-bridge at the mind-bridge where it bridges cradles sweeps your meaning brushes and jungles juggles and wonders which hand’s intuition which path to follow lie the answers to the questions asked lie the questions known and
not yet explored
24th July 2016
The path that's walked by narcissists is one they think we've missed,
it delivers them from hardship and gifts a life of bliss.
They learned through truth they're vulnerable, so truth they wont admit,
without the fear life's wonderful and they think that they've nailed it.
Protection undetectable so they fully commit,
they wont be made a spectacle up high on the summit.
They start deflecting blame making others the suspect,
and lie in vain to make it seem that they are just perfect.
Excuses become their weapon and diverting attention,
they put the blame on anyone who they can make look dumb.
They use their words as evidence lying ways are blunt,
glowing with a confidence assured they're intelligent.
Relying on delusion they shape reality,
but people see delusion and question sanity.
People start to cotton on to what they are doing,
and they will say you've got it wrong as they lie about lying.
They've a clear transparency, we all know what's happening,
they continue like a tragedy, they wont admit a thing.
Standing their ground long enough, until you stop asking,
when they believe they've mastered bluffs, carving out a win.
The fear is still irrelevant, unchallenged like a king,
ignoring all the evidence in what the people think.
They think they control reputations, pulling on the strings,
their cold use of manipulation, their power clearly shrinks.
By now they feel entitled and believe they're bulletproof,
blind to all their rivals, those people that they've used.
Surprised when you challenge them, left angry and confused,
they rise enraged but powerless desperate to abuse.
Revealing all their cowardice, there's nothing they can do,
exposing their empowered lust, as all they had they lose.
This is how the Empath destroys the Narcissist,
they may seem conned but they have grasped exactly what exists.
Thinking that your rightful place was wearing the crown,
but you chose dishonesty and it all came tumbling down.
*Image of A Fallen Smirk by DG.
Brace For Impact
Pillar of society, creme de la creme, important person,
one to be reckoned by indeed.
One who's untouched by palls, frails near a radiant ray
growing escorts doth proceed.
Voice of distinction whose speeches are unchallenged
by its assertion that's decreed.
Unphased episodes courses the agendas, a sequence
that discerns simper's precede.
A tempestuous dominance succeeds ominously, envy
malcontents opposition brews.
A reddish rosebud blossom pleasantly teases passing
precious sinless longing views.
Momentarily, likely hopefuls sufficed with promiscuity,
as castles are in the air amuse.
Tease now meets, precious turns valuable, the sinless
goes erringly, a longing peruse.
It's Victor Victoria all o'er again, contentious contempt
prompt convenient conveyance.
Spun wove a collaring, intrigues the unconscious prey
lifeline throbbings flit abeyance.
Reflections forfeited understanding, extending affairs
remaining heartfelt purveyance.
A cunning round effortlessly played a quagmire knew
a must to revisit the surveyance.
Gameplayers oriented with odds best strategy, ne'er
is an even field, someone loses.
The furnishings and ambiance, constant the unwary
yet, talented eyes espy cruises.
The vibrant and the figurative ignored the trappings
materializes oneness' enthuses.
Benumbed by skepticism facilitates a stirring, bestill
as mesmerizing coequals fuses.
Skulked fogs' ethereal coursing mauling hilltops full
as the penthouse lights dwindle.
Midst Aurora's wake a bliss wanes, as lights reclaim
the wilting as a mint thorn tingle.
The advent baffles confused as concealed cameras
videos live and reporters mingle.
Crushed stand, a ring falls, plays another team, not
alone, brace for impact, a kindle.
2022 June 22
*1st Place*
This or That, Vol 12
~~Edward Ibeh: Judging 2022 July 01
As the dream king is sat at his throne...
What am I to do whilst I am away? What then would befall my kingdom? There is still so much to do but yet, I am administered so little time. I am here now but what should take priority? This throne alike every footstep of mine bears the weight of those many grains of sand that has helped shape what I am & what you would want to be. Since this is a peculiar circumstance-
Lord shaper sighs...
I am permitted one last show of viability. This will be my final act, not only as king but as morpheus.
Morpheus waves his hand to relieve himself of his throne and thus all of creation awakens...
I am at the end of my duties so yes, I am also at the end of my life. For thousands of years Ive believed that my role being dream of the endless was unchangeable and essential. Because of that I was to be unchallenged and unable to be woven unto anything more or less- that my presence was to keep order to an unorderly presence within the subconscious minds of both the temporal & immortal. My my, how much has developed, even within these final hours of mine, I cannot remain ever so stiff. I am tired...
The sandman walks into his chambers, closes the door & lays atop his bed for the first and final time...
May my final moments be to me what it has always been to others- not finality but an open ended agreement of the inevitable. As I lay here with my eyes shut, I am both shaken and relieved. This is what I have given & so I believe it is only fair that I shall receive the same. I welcome the next few breaths with this last, endlessly repeated word that seemed so hallowed yet now Ive come to understand it personally... Goodnight.
As he finishes his thoughts- the dream king, lord shaper, dream of the endless, morpheus himself, fells into a slumber of sorts. One not maintained by any of his siblings nor even himself of course. Bittersweet it is and always has been.