Long Unfortunate Poems
Long Unfortunate Poems. Below are the most popular long Unfortunate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unfortunate poems by poem length and keyword.
“But you have never been a scout, " she said.
“Yes,” I agreed, “but I know these woods, and I will do a terrific job.”
So she hired me as her scout.
I showed her the layout of my bank, and we peeked at my eggs.
I have to incubate them tomorrow, I warned her
So I will have to have tomorrow off.
She could see that she had hired the right kingfisher
When I took her to see the bee-eaters,
mot mots, todies and ground rollers.
It was unfortunate when Uncle Azure flew too hard at his tree and fatally injured himself, falling at her feet.
A friend of yours? She asked me.
“A relative,” I told her.
She hired me, and I showed her the kingfisher family
in Africa, Asia, and Oceania.
She was amazed at our long pointed bills and long heads.
I was amazed that she wanted to give me paper as payment,
when I wanted bugs and invertebrates.
A mutation of broken parts from unspoken monsters,
unsettling by heart yet comforting in touch.
Move no mountains for this unfortunate miscreation;
endless waves have made monsoons weep.
Timeless tales have woven a quilt of myths—
how the echo filters reality from the light.
Why must thorns pierce through the field of forgiveness?
Silent spheres meant for homing—
might it be the sharpness that drenches itself in gold,
swallowing the secrets of bleeding stars,
while purging threats of thunder in fragile jars?
Leave no bones to bind,
no barks from heinous hounds.
I am the silver lining between love and longing,
the grizzly gates built by broken men.
What is left of this fragrant fruit that holds no seeds?
Take no pain from the soils that give empty needs.
Save those songs for better days,
for a harp from heaven will have softer things to say.
Tutankhamen’s demise;
unfortunate boy king, all too soon cut down;
before adulthood.
His spirit echoes one last cry throughout eternity.
Akhenaton’s son, bred for the throne of Egypt,
leaves a legacy short, but never forgotten.
Lapis lazuli and gold death mask;
preserved for all time.
A precious reminder of Egypt’s,
throne-child; now perused by modern eyes.
No one’s grave should be robbed,
for treasure, to be gawked at; put it back!
Children deserve respect, too.
There is enough gold and gems,
in the ground, to mine for everyone.
Grave robbing, is theft;
even when done by archaeologists.
Stealing from a dead child’s tomb,
is about as, low as theft gets.
Research, in no way, justifies this abominable act.
Respect is only earned, by the giving, of same.
The past, has passed; leave it be and forge a new beginning.
That’s how it’s supposed to be.
Tut’s afterlife should have the respect.
that he was robbed of, in mortal life.
A very human touch to a story
with some zip to it.
The media is a heartless leach
to the many unfortunate souls suffering,
amongst the filth and chaos of a city in peril.
War has reduced entire cities to rubble,
people are forced to flee for their lives
and yet, the news cameras focus their lenses
on its bullet-ridden facade for dramatic effect.
A money-hungry machine,
news stations suck every ounce of emotion from a story
without shame.
We expect them to inform us
of worldwide catastrophes and events,
and so, we encourage indiscriminate insensitive
photo-shoots of people’s pain.
It may be a sad addiction, and quite pathetic,
but it’s perfectly acceptable,
to exploit human suffering
in the name of news.
Coverage of childhood trauma, fear, or starvation,
all fall under the doctrine of clean hands.
Reporters inoculate hard hearts from reality’s truths
as homeless, hopeless faces,
cling to life, walking away
from everything they ever loved.
And recording their pain
while it’s still fresh and piercing,
is but an opportunity for the news to shore up falling ratings.
(Free Verse)
Dear Donalds and Fans Thereof
I suppose by now you have noticed
there is an unfortunate difference
between draining the swamp
and becoming the swamp.
Swamp life promises fast thrills
but delivers slow and sure decomposition,
decay,
dissonance,
despair,
loneliness at the sadly shared bottom
of the top.
But, the swamp is also rich with creolization opportunities,
polycultural seductions and fertility,
cooperative marshes
trying to breathe
underneath our oil slick
toxic ego-incorporated politics.
To drain the swamp
we must first notice
we have become swamped.
To drain the Trumps
we must first notice
we have become trumped.
I started noticing superficial similarities.
He had a shaved head just like me,
and we were both the same age, separated by 3 months exactly.
He was born June 1st, 1953.
I was born March 1st, 1953,
and as I listened to his life story,
of mental health issues, darkness and misery,
I began noticing stronger similarities,
between this unfortunate individual and yours truly.
His problems as a child, his falling into the company,
that would influence his life most heinously eventually.
His low self-esteem, his vulnerability to be drawn in,
by anyone who made him feel special, and/or important,
and as I sat staring into my flatscreen,
I was taken aback suddenly.
The image on my screen was not he but me.
"There but for the grace of god goes I,"
was the first thought I had before I broke down and cried,
but I wasn't crying for myself, I was crying for him,
because he too, like I was also a victim,
of an environment that influenced our behaviour and decision making.
My path just happened to be not as extreme,
as this individual who publicly is seen as a villain,
but it could have been.
"There but for the grace of god goes I,"
I continued thinking as I continued to cry.
“Good Night and Good Luck,”
Brought to us from the stage,
Allowed viewers from home
To with theater engage.
Based on Edward R. Murrow
Who, for CBS News,
Got to challenge McCarthy,
It got rave reviews.
Though George Clooney was brilliant,
As was the whole cast,
What most got me was watching
A glimpse of the past…
When the bad guy was finally
Brought to his knees
After hurting so many
To varied degrees.
It’s a relevant topic
In light of the way
That democracy is
Being threatened today.
The unfortunate truth is,
At least what I see,
That to topple this bad guy,
There’s no guarantee.
“The times are a’changin”
Can’t really apply –
That train’s left the station,
No matter the why.
So I am afraid
We can never go back,
For the truth will be constantly
Under attack.
It vexes me
I toss and turn
I cannot find the words to describe the beauty in sight
For I am a humble man of ink
New words have to be created to describe the fraction of the beauty that you are
But alas I do not hold such power
For I would have created a whole library
Just to describe your beauty, my love
Forgive me my love
For I cannot describe your beauty to the unfortunate who didn't see you
Else the Emperors would have cried and gave you their empires
Just for you to be at their funeral pyres
Some say Aphrodite cried the day the Titan made you
It broke her, it made her irate
She punished the Titan severe
But the Titan was rhapsodic for he knew he bested her
And so you came into this world
Amongst the quarrel of the Gods
Like a ray of light
In my empty life
How lucky am I to have everything i could want
How lucky am I that I have money to spare
How lucky am I that I dont have to go hungry
How lucky am I to have 2 married parents
How lucky am I to have a roof over my head
How unfortunate all I wanted was peace
How unfortunate money doesnt ease pain
How unfortunate I must go hungry to be pretty
How unfortunate my parents dont get along
How unfortunate the roof over my head is caving in
How fortunate that I can make peace with others
How fortunate I can give to those whose money cannot be spared
How fortunate am I to give food to the starved
How fortunate that I have witnessed strong love
How fortunate I am to share my roof with those who need it more
How lucky am I to be so unlucky
~Trials And Pain~
(Rhyme)
Some folks may choose death over life
In all the midst of their strife
But I've always chosen heartedly
Life because I believe guardedly
That what really define us in the end
Is the choices that we make my friend
Who we choose when we have to face any
Adversity or what we may see as a tragedy.
Who we choose to be and how we react to it
Is what mold us and shapes us every bit
How we respond to each trial and suffering
Is of the utmost importance of our living.
Let's not be dictated against our judgement or stir away
From our goals by other peoples opinions, or events, yea.
Master-minded by life or executed by the ravishes time,
Both which may show us no compassion at all under any clime.
Let's not be mislead or wrongly misguided every day
To act in a rash manner when unfortunate deeds are at play
For our emotions we must master, and not in any way or time be
Controlled by them, for as we know emotions come and flee
So many in our hearts we breed them and often from the world conceal
They may come and go as freely as they please and we may feel.
Our thoughts breath them with life, and shape them in many forms each day.
There's always room for improvement as they are in the sky all the stars,
But you should learn, accept and like yourself, the person that you are.
Love life and embrace it,love yourself every single day to,
Be kind but strong, remember,that in Gods perfect image you were created too,
Trials and pain can break us or help us grow positivity all the way through.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2014
January.20.2015