Long Unluckily Poems
Long Unluckily Poems. Below are the most popular long Unluckily by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unluckily poems by poem length and keyword.
the good die young
Jonny was a good man
he was a man of his words
who sacrificed all he got
for the sake of his people
he never lived a life of lies
so truthful to his community
he offer help to everyone in need
he always gave to the poor
lend to the needy
he was the spoke man
of his people
he will never gave up the right
of his people for nothing
not for anything
the good die young
Jonny was a man of peace
yet despite all set and done
haters of humanity won't
let Jonny be
they criticised all he has done
they never saw no good in
his deeds
all the time they say
he was fake
haters always put him down
in every way possible
every of his progress
they try to change to lie
the good die young
oh Jonny a noble man
unluckily Jonny was ill
laying on a sick bed
surprisingly no one turns up
to know how Jonny fares
no hater no lovers
Jonny suffered a deep pain
from his illness
hoping to be helped
by his people he shared
all he had with
to no avail no one showed up
on no what a world
Jonny weep
now i understand why
they say
the good die young
the good die young
Jonny lament in pain
day and night
dieing in silence
looks like no one cares
at long last Jonny pass away
What A World
the good die young
moral thought
is good to be good
but
is bad to be too good
they ends you up to regret
the good deed of one
is his legacy that lives
for enternity
becarefull? when you are good
not everyone will notice
and appreciate but
a good person never change
guess why
the good die young
I have been dreaming,
That I found a lover full of love and compassion,
A beautiful mirage in my deserted life.
Sometimes dreams seem to be tuning into reality,
A beacon of hope shines on my stranded boat,
Unluckily I lose the sight in rough seas of emotions,
As realities take over sweet imaginations.
As a marooned sailor of the lonely ship,
I would hang on to the lonely beach,
I would keep dreaming on for the daring rescue,
For if the dreams die, I will fade away like a sea shell in the ocean.
6/1/2023
Dreaming Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh | Send Soup Mail
Contest Description
The same kind of nights we see the same times a year.
People play people, break their hearts then blame the moon and stars, not the beer and the bars, for all the tears.
Down the road, round the back. Wake up without recount for who or what was just unluckily near.
Bruises take a while to disappear.
The same kind of nights we see the same times a year. A sharp dislike is taken for a smile that can soon disappear.
Eyes shine in sunlight but hide their plight for the night, for the fear, for the tears.
The same kind of eyes seeing for the same kind of minds night after night all through the year.
The same kind of nights for the same kind of minds for the same kind of tears.
"The Colour Guards"
Heaven
came close to me today
I flirted with the idea of it
outrageously
The Colour Guard
kept changing
The metaphysical poet
spoke automatic its message through me
it visualised some kind of new Nirvana
shining through electric spectral colours
held aloft
by the containment emeralds
the ghost writer
enticing me to tear from the limb
most high the gilded eye of mind
ignites through crystalline
from the lowest of low born dreams
the sweetest green apple of its eye
so I took a bite and full-bodied
what was living inside the skin of me
metamorphasized
I came close to heaven today
it flirted with the idea of me outrageously
it spoke to me in cloudy colours
class not out yet for long lost fellows
more lessons coming in
each room by door behind all numbers
the answers
found within
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
"The metaphysical poets were men of learning, and, to show their learning was their whole endeavour; but, unluckily resolving to show it in rhyme, instead of writing poetry, they only wrote verses, and, very often, such verses as stood the trial of the finger better than of the ear; for the modulation was so imperfect, that they were only found to be verses by counting the syllables... The most heterogeneous ideas are yoked by violence together; nature and art are ransacked for illustrations, comparisons, and allusions; their learning instructs, and their subtilty surprises; but the reader commonly thinks his improvement dearly bought, and, though he sometimes admires, is seldom pleased."
nirvana
noun
(in Buddhism)
a transcendent state in which there is neither suffering, desire, nor sense of self, and the subject is released from the effects of karma and the cycle of death and rebirth. It represents the final goal of Buddhism.
"Listening is all well and good", she said.
"Watch and learn, read between the lines;
Morse Code, a gift of Love - for you," she said.
powerless to the force of fate?
the futility of human will
when fate swallows free will like a tidal sea
when choice is neither safe nor certain
you embrace everything happening as fate's design,
an inevitability
perhaps an unseen deity pulling puppet strings?
we are like mismatched spoons in a drawer
to me, there's substance in free will
often wrong directions spinning us out of control
realism that springs from life's seeds
no submissiveness to fate
no resignation to what's believed inevitable
with no obvious design, chance breeds tales of sorrow
sometimes the good end unluckily
while the bad can prosper
unequal outcomes remain unexplained
it's not a world to yield its secrets
bad luck happens (no reflection on self)
it's widespread like bird droppings
Can we reach a different conclusion?
to value moments of misdirection
when personal error becomes art,
poetry that rattles our nerves
from the keen edge of free will,
choice
that stretches beyond a fated helpless
to know that the stars aren't calling the shots
to know that a world of war-hell
is a hell of our own making
Poem composed August 29/2022
For Edward Ibeh
Contest: This or That Volume 13
I have closed the main gate
After that I closed the door
Something more to be closed
So I closed the window pane
All these efforts are insufficient
To keep away cousin of worries
The past sweet memories came into sense.
What kind of memories are these
Which remains young with chastity
Days are passed to make things old
But failed on a high society lady
This partiality made me nervous
So i tried hard to erase them
With the oldest natural eraser
But it didn't work well
Then I tried the newest technologies
Like delete, filters and editing apps
Unluckily they all said sorry
Now what can I do
Have something more to try
First I switched off all lights
Then closed eyes as monk in penance
Made dark cabin of science's lab
But experiment didn't get success
When all efforts gone vain
I knew the facts
A prey has no more choices.
It started well,then why couldn't it end the same?
Don't trust that voice in ur head which says
"For me you are lame
For me you have no shame
For me ur feelings are just a game"
It could be a feeling of despair
They call it rejection
But it's not only the reaction
And if you know you know
It's not always better to show
the hurricane going inside
The confusion which is unable to guide
somewhere leads you to hide..
Maybe the truth which says
"To feel everything so deeply is not alone a blessing"
Indeed it's a curse as well
But unluckily that doesn't means
that feeling from my side is still not lacking
Hoping of you to still not yell
It was, is and will be hard to tell
If it's not love, then it's not even hate to sell
I only want you to remember...
"All that starts well, ends well"...!
The Cotswolds are a bunch of hills in rural England's heart
They're green and rolling, full of sheep that frolic, bleat and fart.
People come from far and wide to hike the Cotswold Way,
And from Bath to Chipping Campden lovely views enhance their stay.
The villages and towns each have a unique English charm,
And when the sun shines on those hills there's joy on every farm.
The cows and pigs and chickens temporarily forget their fate,
That tomorrow or the next day they'll be on somebody's plate.
The dry stone walls meander through the fields o'er hills and dales,
And from the very top you can unluckily see Wales,
A country full of Welshmen waving leeks and daffodils,
Who sing too much and abuse their sheep amongst their rugged hills.
I'm digressing, it's the Cotswolds that’s the topic of this ode,
There's beauty round every corner of each winding country road.
So when in England, to the Cotswolds drive without delay,
You won't regret it, honestly, you'll love it every day.
My buttocks both rejoice whene'er those hills come into view,
I love those gorgeous Cotswolds, and I know that you will too.
There’s a sign right on the wall,
In case you’re feeling nervous,
That payment is expected at
The time you’re getting service.
You’re possibly distracted
‘Cause they’re x-raying your head.
They want your money right up front
In case you end up dead.
The sign is a reminder
Lest you maybe will forget.
This test is just a gamble
And they’re counting on your bet.
So whether you’re a winner
Or, unluckily, you lose,
The house accumulates the chips
And you cannot refuse.
And so you cough the payment up
By cash or card or check,
And sit around and wait
As they are shuffling the deck.
You’ve anted up, you’re in the game;
You’re in the dealer’s pull.
No matter if you win or lose,
You’ve paid your debt in full.