Long Unvarnished truth Poems
Long Unvarnished truth Poems. Below are the most popular long Unvarnished truth by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unvarnished truth poems by poem length and keyword.
He keeps trying his barrage
of raging vitriol, but it's a blunt knife
on his target's alligator skin
A predictable high school bully
with the same ol' lines of attack.
His target always sees them coming...
and the invectives inflict no pain!
The bully sharpens the blade
with each try, then slashes and stabs
in rapid succession...
but the knife never breaks his victim's skin,
and the funny thing about it is...
the bully seems to be the one bleeding!
One fine day, the boy
bravely stands up for himself
with this unvarnished truth...
"You repeatedly try to cut me open,
yet you lacerate yourself each time
you fail to break me; and you'll keep
failing, so choose your next victim!"
Bravo, kiddo, bravo!
Submitted for...
Strand Select 12,Any Form ,Any Theme Poetry Contest (Winner: Honorable Mention)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date: 01/15/2020
Date written: 01/12/2020
While climbing the corporate ladder,
Jill zoomed right by Jack. He got madder
than a wet hen. Then, fit to be tied,
so determined to soothe his hurt pride,
he told lies on her. “Cheater!” he cried.
Everyone knew the unvarnished truth:
Jack was dishonest, mean, and uncouth!
Only ONE paid Jack any attention~~
his employer. I feel I must mention
Jack got kicked to the curb with no pension!
As for Jill, she has earned the respect
she is shown. All know she won’t neglect
any duty, and her employees
know she cares about them. Each, she sees
as a team member she’s glad to please.
Your Rhythm, a gentle breeze
swirls the emotions
and guide me through maze
of life, i learnt lately
Your imageries, a telescope
amplified the bitter truth
But, wasn't it a gem to be seen
Your words, an enchanting soul
sparkle the page, making me whole
brushstrokes of magical art
paints a picture that touches my heart
So does it pierce
with unvarnished truth
a soul crushing existence
hopeless nights and desperate days
2 years ago seems like history
History of glorious times
Lets navigate
Not to the past
but to your poem
Your message, beacon in the night,
shields me like a knight
Oh!I am grateful
A river to flow
deafened by the dose of reality
Your craft, mastery of essence
Echoes emotions that never depart
Your art, a reflection of soul
Inspires to thank you wholeheartedly
In our heads are
two voices.
One is
deceitful,
judgmental...
You're not good enough.
You're not beautiful enough.
You're not strong enough.
You're not lovable.
You're not worthy.
You will fail if you try.
Laugh off these falsehoods
and listen to
the other voice within
that tells you
the unvarnished truth...
You are enough.
You are beautiful.
You are strong.
You are lovable.
You are a trophy to be held up high!
You will succeed, every time.
The preposterous fictions many
profess to be unvarnished truth
warp the very fabric of our universe --
cause those long dead to walk among us
through the spectral midnights in our minds.
The bone dust of those past millennia
films our eyes, coats our shelves
of sacred primers, those missals
unquestionable in their catechistic
authority -- so we become
the acolytes of those controllers
who have themselves always been
instructed, conditioned, and suppressed
by generations of such teachers --
through example, reward, or punishment.
Think! Open up your mind!
The truly free do not fear to question
and to decide the truth or falsity
of any proposition, any statement
or assertion and to declare
what they have concluded to be true.
Or false.
The noise of the world is a shimmering veil,
A theatre built of applause and applause,
Where we measure our worth by the wind in the sail,
And bend all our truths to societal laws.
We paint our own faces to mirror the crowd,
We carefully curate the words that we speak,
Losing our voice where the chanting is loud,
To trade who we are for the praise that we seek.
But silence arrives like a hammer and stone,
To strip all the scaffolding down to the floor,
And leave us standing entirely alone,
With no audience waiting outside of the door.
It shuts out the mirrors, the echoes, the cheer,
The subtle performance we put on each day,
And forces the soul to look closely and hear
The unvarnished truth that we whispered away.
For true quietude is no stillness of air,
Nor is it a sanctuary built for retreat;
It is a severe and uncomfortable square
Where motive and action are forced to compete.
Without an observer to tell us our place,
Or tell us which virtue is worthy or right,
We measure our depth in the shadowless space
And learn who we are in the absence of light.
It tests every value we claimed to possess,
To see if they hold when no witness is near,
Or if they were worn as a fancy dress,
To hide our small doubts and our hunger for fear.
In the deep, empty quiet, integrity grows—
Not out of the honor that others bestow,
But out of the quiet decision that knows
The truth of the foundation built down below.
When the world turns its back and the stage lights go dim,
And no one remains to approve or to judge,
The character forged in that solitude grim
Is an unshakeable pillar that never will budge.
For the soul that has met itself fully in peace,
And weathered the void where validation must die,
Gains a private, deep truth that will never decrease,
Anchored far deeper than the world’s fleeting eye.
Pages of your book
By Michelle Morris
09/09/2022
The snowflakes come down
Like a flurry of white hope
Upon the grave that we stand around
The ground silent like our souls
The pastor gives a beautiful service
Words I cannot hear
Not comprehending the message
But knowing it is felt within
I stand like a statue
Cold and silent and alone
Wondering if this is the moment
When I give up my human knowing
I throw soil onto your grave
Before the casket is lowered into the ground
And there stands an angel statue
Weeping for the tears I am unable to find
For if I let them fall freely
What emotions do I have left?
I hold on to the pain
As a way to hold on to you indefinitely
Not trusting my memories
To show the unvarnished truth
Putting our love on a pedestal
A shrine to better moments
Life carries on and on and on
It goes on despite our protestations
The pages of your book
Now halted for the ages
And I wonder what my time holds
Without you here in my life
Will my heart heal again
Or will I be forever frozen in this nightmare?
I walk away from your gravesite
The sight etched in my mind for good
The last words you said to me
A reminder that we talked
Of life and love and death
Of the future and hopes not realised
Now that your book is finished
I'll have to write chapters for you too
The snow blankets the ground
And I wish it could blanket me
The love and light that left your eyes
Like your soul left your human entity
One day I'll see you again
When Heaven brings me home
But until we are together there
I'll remember you in my soul
© Michelle Morris, 2022
Ha! Please take down
The eyesore
You've mounted atop your head.
You wonder why
It feels much too heavy.
Here's the unvarnished truth.
Because, well, because
One cannot be
A fool
And a king
Simultaneously
Your counterfeit diadems
Hold no weight, or value.
They wouldn't shine beneath
A plethora of suns.
Spare yourself
The world's ridicule.
To rule an empire
Unchallenged,
To someday sit
On a throne, wearing
The real McCoy
To travel so much as
Halfway
The long glory road
To acquire the royal appellation
And prestige you covet,
For starters, deep-six
Your distended ego
And delusions of grandeur
Date written: 04/24/2022
You have passed on, distant and silent, o departed soul,
you are no longer here; life has left you whole.
You have been laid to rest in the cold, unyielding ground,
and where your voice once answered, no echo can be found.
Oh, O re tlogetse o hlokofetše—
You have left us, erased, wiped away,
breathing no more, cold as if fast asleep today.
This letter carries no spirit,le hloka moya,
it reaches for a shadow that was once my moya.
O, how the heart has turned into stone Pelo ye thata
severed feelings, emotionally detached, left all alone.
To feel nothing, go hloka go kwa, in this silent place,
unresponsive to the tears that fall across my face.
Go senyegile—all is broken, ruined, and still,
motionless paper resting on a frozen windowsill.
Whose time has run out, go felilego sebaka,
a page deprived of joy, drifting into the dark.
Oh, but I write to you ka nnete, in complete, unvarnished truth,
remembering the living one, yo a phelago, from the days of our youth,
when feelings responded, warm, empathetic, and bright,
filled with delightful joy, radiating pleasing light.
~ Bygone beauty - the spark still pulsates ~
- quote by poet
Antique and retro
junk or culture?
I bought it
way too expensive at auction
Aging and rusty
Useless
you're probably thinking
A rustic lantern
from the time when kerosene lamps
was the best one had
Timeless design with
soul, charm and uniqueness
Brush and rub
Of sentimental virtues
the need for mercy,
nursing and care
in the hands of love
The beauty is temporarily hidden
will soon regain its former glory
The history of the lamp,
- the unvarnished truth
Brush and rub
03.04.2023
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
- 'R' Words - Poetry Contest -
Sponsored by: Constance La France
1st place in the contest