Long Unlike Poems
Long Unlike Poems. Below are the most popular long Unlike by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unlike poems by poem length and keyword.
The chaotic storms of mountain. Made winds and valley breezes.
Awakens the soul and wisdom's fountain
So as the words are written the pain seizes.
Eyes grey as the ice of men's heart
Words uttered seem crazy like the island shutter
Soul as deep as the tomb of the arch
Psychotic metaphor in sync with thunder.
Unlike the followed thinkers of past
Who Were intrusted to build the future
Now poets free thinkers those who could save us at last
Are discredited Because the masses are mentally neutered
Ignorance individually applied
And then through treachery
Introduced thru the subconscious mind
To teach a complaicent society into self induced trickery
A princess cried into her pillow.
She was blessed by birthright and virtue
but cursed, for reasons unseason'd
with an unstaid love.
She always wondered how she’d know if a particular feeling was ‘Love.’
She’d asked everyone - her mother, her governess, even the gardener.
She had a thousand questions.
“Does love come into being through will and intention, or does it break, suddenly, like waves on a rocky shore?” She’d asked.
Would there be a moment she’d recognise - like an artist proclaiming a work finished?
Was ‘love’ a value exchange - or just a transitory metonym for lust?
But no one, if knowing, would say and it drove her mad.
Such woes have furnished many a prayer but she wasn’t about to ask a priest.
She finally decided to ask the Wizard, inviting him up for a cup of Malmsey (a rare and luxurious wine).
“Love is a magical thing,” he’d said, taking a slow drag on his very long stemmed pipe, “not at all like a gift.” Adding, “You can give your love away - every kind of your love - and not be left with less than you started with.”
‘Wizards’.. she fumed inwardly, after he’d left. What on earth did THAT mean?
.
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A Christmas Playlist:
daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_12.mp3
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unstaid = unsettled
.
Baby did not know
Anything outside her circle
No 1 wanted to be the 1 to tell her
Damaged people like nothing more
than to burst comfy bubbles
The world is filled with sharp corners
Sticks and Stone's and Horrors
Sadly these are lessons that
Baby will have to learn for herself
All you can do is put a loving arm around her
when she comes home crying questioning why the other kids are so horrible and mean
And hope and pray she has the strength
and presence to overcome all they can
throw at her
Safe in the knowledge that she has a
strong , stable and loving home to
go home to to
Unlike the children of broken homes
that perpetuate
Monkey see or Monkey doo
No 1 loves you
Mummy never wanted you
Hopefully before you are 2 broken
You will come to realise
It was not your fault
There was nothing you could do
The Blame Alone
Lies Solely with Her
For what its worth
You are not responsible for your Birth
Or lack of upbringing
Unfortunately 1 of life's great unsolved mysteries
Is why any old 2 clueless Idiot's can have children
without the means or desire to look after them
Why for the Love of God ?
Why ?
And how are those unfortunate infertile
Couples to wrestle with said injustice ?
In a perfect world
Every child should have a loving Mum and Dad
And deserves a kiss on the head
Before being tucked into a warm Bed
Or am i Wrong ???????????
When comes the rain? Like waiting for Godot…
Indeed, he didn’t say for sure he’d come.
Depart? We’ll miss for sure; we cannot go.
Is life a wait in total and in sum
with hurried floods we, frantic, store in tanks,
forget the banquet, focused on the crumb?
Protesting the unjust while lacking thanks,
We fail to see the bounty in the rains,
Curse rivers when they overflow their banks.
Though I may be impatient yet again,
I shan't lose hope when clouds do not appear,
Exploring what life’s deserts may contain.
No existential drought, for one thing’s clear:
Unlike our friend Godot, He has drawn near.
----------
for the 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 7 Poetry Contest
sponsored by Mark Toney
written on 07/06/2022
It’s closing in,
The harmonic melody,
It’s tone deliberately grim.
As a one-time melody, it is heard by all.
A familiar, yet unfamiliar ring.
For the majority - its tune is distance.
But like all those before, I can hear it-
I can hear it from deep within.
It’s seduction.
Always terribly well-advantaged,
Overpowering,
Never once balancing.
From a figure showing us from within, it gives a gesture done to many before myself,
Void of rush,
It’s time for our dance.
What of my arm?
What tames my reach?
What keeps my arm dangling at my side?
Something foreign-
Something I cannot recognize...
Limbs void of any flesh, it coaxes with its twists and turns
Its movements are deliberate,
Deliberately leaves one to feel left out.
Not special but eternal,
Our well-worn dance.
But unlike it’s “ending”, it is mine instead.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Pappadopoulos
has circled back and plops down
on Fred's front porch, all tuckered out
So Fred cheerfully pulls up a chair
and together they sit and stare
openly ogling, gawking, gaping
because, as everyone knows-
it's not considered staring
if you're in a group of more than one
Miss Luby doesn't care about this rule
as she is inside, and thus it doesn't apply
she perches in a strategically placed
armchair, cat on lap, and munches
popcorn like she is at a movie
relishing the mystery of new neighbors
as well as the passing parade
“Welcome to the neighborhood!”
old Mr. Nicholson says
sidling across the lawn
toward the unsuspecting couple
unlike the other neighbors
who manage to maintain some sense
of pretense, the incorrigibly nosy
Mr. Nicholson comes right out
and interrogates the new neighbors
asking all the terribly inappropriate questions
everyone wants to know
but would never dare to ask
And as the new neighbors
stammer and stutter
taken aback, bewildered, bumfuzzled
by this brazen barrage
of curious queries
little fish-eyes blink behind
the little round spectacles
on his curiously boyish face
matter-of-fact, he is
utterly unfazed and unaware
of the discomfort he is creating
eventually, quota filled
he hobbles home
to share the wealth
As night begins to fall
the new neighbors finally finish unloading
and head back toward the house
In a last ditch effort at a closer look
Jake, the middle-aged man from next door
brings over his heartfelt housewarming gift
rich display of bachelor hospitality-
half a lukewarm pizza
in a greasy box
and a liter of cola
Setting: a rendition of Tara Plantation, 1860’s Georgia
Characters: Scarlatina (S), an oddly-dressed Southern Belle
Brett Rutler (B), a dashing, but presently quite confused, rogue
Scene: The characters discuss Scarlatina’s attire.
S: Oh, it’s you again, Brett.
I was hoping to see Ashley.
B: How needy can you get?
I say “Ashley Schmashley”!
S: I’ve been in slow motion today.
I spent a long time getting dressed.
B: Well, I was going to say
you seem subdued, but not depressed.
You’re wearing something—uh, new
unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
S: Isn’t it just the loveliest hue!
This style makes me feel like a Queen.
B: Where in hell—I mean where on earth
did you find that d-dress you’re wearing?
S: I spotted this unique gem of great worth
in a store window. It seemed to be daring
me to claim it. I simply couldn’t resist.
Its draw was powerful. It had to be mine.
B: I assure you I get the gist.
With me, it would be fine
if you next dressed as a ham.
Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!
Epilogue: Scarlatina, desiring a new dress, eyes the wallpaper as the curtain falls, not the one she's wearing.
Fallen SEED (HUNGER GROWS)
I sow seeds,
Yes! I plant them;
Onto the ground;
Fell on some,
Some rocks seeds fell on;
Sprung up, choke
dried up
no water
Fell on some weeds and thorns;
Sprang in rain, with it choked up;
Sprung up, choke
dried up
no water
Oh! BUT FALLEN GOOD GROUND
Swallowed up in good ground
Spring forth arise and grow for the Lord
Ahh! fallen seed
you are indeed
hunger grows
but Jesus holds
you in His arms
your feet are off the ground
your soul rises, unblocked you rise
A bare fruit grown
hundred-fold
truth be told
ya! got ears close your mouth, listen you need to hear
I sow seeds,
Yes! I plant them;
Onto the ground;
Fell on some,
Some rocks seeds fell on;
Sprung up, choke
dried up
no water
Father, God unlike the seed
I am flowered Lord pollinate me
Through my spirit allow my soul to be
Fallen seed planted in your bosom
As my hunger grows
You have satisfied my soul
Sprung up, choke
dried up
no water
Father, God unlike the seed
I am flowered Lord pollinate me
Hunger grows I was once like a.......
fallen seed
St. Luke 8
1/6/18
by James Edward Lee Sr.
Joy of pleasure, a child of poor parents,
Bliss alone founts from a perpetual spring,
Joy fancies scores of fond uncles and aunts,
Never lasts long the song they choose to sing.
Being a moth made of mere moments nigh,
It sleeps all day, to wake in glare of night,
O Bliss, thou art a dancing butterfly
That spreads its beauteous wings in Nature’s light.
Perhaps I should call thee a honey bee
That gently sucks nectar from a flower
Beetle, nor ever a black bumblebee
That plums and cherries a whole would devour.
Thou art a Lark that no rain clouds would chase,
The bane of joy of pleasure’s to be blasé.
__________________________________________
Sonnet |04.10.2010| joy, pleasure, bliss
Poet’s Note: Mundane joys and pleasures are carnal and they never last long, unlike bliss that founts from deep within. As a popular poetic imagination goes, an Indian Lark, called Chatak, drinks directly from raindrops falling in its widely open beak. It prefers to go thirsty but would never appease rain clouds.
Music of an orchestra wherein each instrument plays,
A role, as in a bonfire, each spark like a pyre does blaze;
Like the vein and blood or flesh and bones nurture each other,
Strings and skins and woodwinds, like cream in butter, taste smother...!
Unlike the cries and cracks and creaks of the animals wild,
Symphony is a concord of serenity compiled;
Lyrics and voices and noises, in this, are harmonized,
Quality, in reasons and rhythms, is never compromised...!
Metrical music movements with rhythmic ranges resound,
As though heavens and humans homely hug, heartbeats abound;
Rondo and Sonata lose their lonely identity
Unity in diversity lulls the soul entity...!
Nature, in its entire entity, is a symphony,
As in physique and psyche, exists unknown synchrony;
I and he and she and they and we form one melody,
It's with each little heart's unison, life flows endlessly...!!!
08 April 2023
Writing Challenge - 'S' Words, Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Rhymes Checked At: Rhyme Zone
Syllables Checked At: How Many Syllables