Long Unwanted Poems
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The people surrounding me keep asking “why are you going back and forth uneasily on the empty stage shedding crocodile tears, and telling the stories of negative effects on others, though you are not of a man of faculty who is even able to produce a theory comparable to 'Blind Will of Universe', one of worst hypothesizes a man can think of.
It’s because though,
when a worldly-minded snob shouts from a podium
“you should have a positive attitude,” while displaying
his resume proudly with the title that is little-to-do with his personality,
his limited academic background that barely conceals the lack of intelligence, and insignificant accomplishment with somewhat concocted experience hiding his real being and thought, he receives respect from the audience who fascinated by every movement the snob makes in the form of applaud with standing ovation, I was always treated badly from audience, fed only by unwelcome astringent fruits of rejection and drink bitter tasting water sprang from unwanted rotten roots to quench my desire…
And that’s why the course of my reasoning became negative,
and, as a natural consequence, no matter how often you may say
to the audience “you ought to be a person of positive attitude,”
since there are more negative aspects surrounding us than
the positive elements, and that’s why I was accepted by
others negatively. More importantly, I was treated negatively
from others simply because reality goes before me.
Although positive thinkers boast themselves as if their thoughts are
sound and healthy, by saying that the water in a cup is half full;
negative thinkers sigh with a defected air and say that a cup is
half empty. However, it doesn’t make any difference how you think,
men’s thoughts cannot surpass the physical phenomena
and, therefore, a half is a half, no more nor less than a half.
In the boundary and limit is as such, whether you like it or not,
men have to go on the path of their own destiny.
Then, why does everyone has to have a positive attitude? I suppose,
that is, not more than a writhe of the men who won’t admit reality
in desperate agony. That’s the self-gratification of men
who are not able to face the facts as they are.
[The irony is, nonetheless, man is able to bear and raise a baby
by an act of self-gratification. It’s amazing, the world is a place
full of wonders.]
Deep within the world so modern,
Lies a hidden road not trodden,
That states the obvious truth be told,
Printed in ink black and bold,
That lost in worlds of ecstasy,
Trapped in snares of misery,
That wars the rumors be told they sneered,
Now not alive a bray a’bird,
Gone are thoughts that thinketh straight,
And now to turn back it's O’so late,
Truth is gone, and truths be’come,
Lies run wild thru’ Urb and slum,
Prove me wrong this not happen,
But wrong they are yet shamelessly clappin’,
All so jolly good way they are,
From the Truth they stay afar,
Given in to the delusions be,
These strange worlds move so surreally,
That eats place a first a crown,
And Wannabe’s laze and fuss arroun’,
Talks about this and that and all that’s good,
Ney earn their money and cry for food,
When not given they stage a protest,
What they think is unjust!
But truth be told they sloth all day,
Sit around and laze away,
Their youths burnt dry, so willfully done,
When the brave reproaches them, they rant and away they run,
Sad to see, this is our reality,
Where all but’s none have time for thee,
Where life’s no respect and death appraise,
No wonder! They fit in with Artemis’ ways,
Tis’ are days of Noah’s time,
Filled with false hate and unwanted slime,
The hot is cold and the cold is hot,
They should be left to these ways to rot,
For no amount of reproach or preaching change they,
They want to remain that way,
So, let it be and move on in life,
Find a place to settle, build a home with your wife,
But when they come, O’Brave men of life,
To scandal your family and toss the knife,
Don’t debate them in anyway by words,
Take up your weapon and massacre they featherless birds,
Let them cry foul, whine and weep,
For they are into misery so deep, even the good that they do is evil so steep,
Let it be, let it be and protect your families,
From these so called ‘Justice Warriors of all the Sissies.’
What is well, when men of old just a teen,
Went to war for freedom’s freeing,
No scandal was found heard, no loose talk in the winds,
They wives waited for them, rather than sinned!
But if now one were off, to fight for justice cause,
In their absence does much spend, party’s all that splend.
Not all I say that way be done but are true, true indeed to none,
Tis’ a tragedy with my pen and ink I write and run.
Serious sibling subluxation...
rapprochement somewhat salvaged dislocation
Truth be told about following poem
mostly written quite some years ago,
and revisions made to recreate
and revise a more satisfactory literary product.
This trademark ungainly, unsightly,
and unwieldy title essentially
huzzah mask ***** aid,
(my humble apology NOT
to incite unwanted
and unwonted anger
among lgbtqia community),
and accentuates tendency
(mine) to administer
reverent unpretentious yawping,
sans (asper thy usual)
wordy, quirky, nutty, heady, easy...
and gallimaufry charade,
though pointed lament
decries copious blather,
which awareness (in tandem
with better devilishly cherubic angels)
prevail upon sesquipedalian
nippy nap noopy quirkiness, might be
in my best (in show)
interest to evade
leaving an unsuspecting
reader psychologically frayed,
and without doubt prematurely
finds same cyber surfer
harried and grayed,
styled akin to experience dramatic,
and sudden onset of progeria
hence, a concerted effort
will be orchestrated, i.e.made
so everyone involved woodwind
fur me (a hip cat) tabby
conscientiously choosing
meow me modus operandi
to mute trumpeting,
associated with this one man
faltering hit parade,
hence, an intent to write
swiftly tailored and more clearly,
cogently, and creditably
qua more understandable to invite,
subsequently witnessing, an
increased authorial fan
base, and unite
easy to comprehend
underlying intelligent conversation,
and/or share something trite,
anyway, thee impetus regarding
risking emailing a younger sister,
where repressed spite led
to dissolution, née cessation
of brotherly linkedin communication
engendered me to make right
egregious emotional estrangement,
principally vitiated, nursed,
generated, augmented
(thank you very much) by me,
viz in sum avoidance behavior
(traipsing, purring, loping,
humming, and doodling along) quite
familiarly, easily, (no matter
discontentedly), alas and alack
moment seemed apropos
for this only bro
their to allow, enable,
and proffer selflessness -
pushing aside ego
(mine) and attempt to go
for the gusto hoe
embarking, kickstarting, and
resolving upon reasonable resolutions
to convey persevere re-establishing
cordiality, despite misgivings
toward Shari Todd
thee family member in question.
THERE IS THIS MAN
THE MAN THAT CLAIMED TO BE A FRIEND
THE SAME MAN WHO STOLE MY INNOCENCE
HE TOOK MY CHILDHOOD FROM ME
AND NOW THE ONLY WAY I FEEL LIKE A KID AGAIN IS TO CRY AND ROCK, CRY AND
ROCK, CRY AND ROCK MYSELF TO SLEEP
THE WAY HE LOOKED AT ME WAS LIKE A “MAN” IS SUPPOSE TO BE IN A “WOMAN”
BUT I WAS ONLY A GIRL
A GIRL TRAPPED BETWEEN THIS MAN AND THAT BED
I STILL SLEEP IN THAT BED
AND EVERY NIGHT THINKING BACK ON WHAT SHOULDN’VE HAPPENED
TWO YEARS LATER STILL IN FEAR BECAUSE OF THAT MISHAP
THIS MAN HAD NO RESPECT FOR ME
LYING INTO THE FACES WHILE STARING INTO THE EYES OF THE FAMILY
THIS MAN STILL HAUNTS ME
NOW EVERY GROWN MAN THAT LOOKS AT ME I FEEL IS DIGUSTING
WHEN EVERY MAN WITH BIG THICK HANDS, LOW CUT HAIR, CHARMING PERSONALITY
SMILES AT ME
I REMEMBER THIS MAN’S HANDS CARESSING AWAY MY INNOCENCE
THE MAKERS PROTECT THIS MAN
CHILD OR NOT, THE PROTECTION SHOULD BE FOR THE INNOCENT
FOR SPEAKING UP THE LADY MAKER TOLD ME I LOOKED STUPID
BUT IN MY HEART I FELT BRAVE
FOR TRYING TO PROTECT GIRLS WHO WERE UNDERAGE
SEE THIS MAN, (AND I USE THAT WORD LOOSELY)
IS NOT A FRIEND, NOT A GOOD KID, NOT INTELLIGENT, NOT HEAVEN SENT
BUT THIS MAN MURDERED MY SELF-ESTEEM
A THEIF!
AND HIS MAKERS…ACCESSORIES
CONDONING THINGS THIS MAN DOES TO YOUNG GIRLS
AS IF HIS ACTIONS DIDN’T ALREADY HURT ENOUGH, THE MAKERS ADD ON PAINFUL
WORDS
IM NOT SORRY THAT I TOLD THE TRUTH
IM SORRY THAT YOUR MAKINGS ARE DECIEVING YOU!
HOW DARE YOU TELL ME THAT WHAT HE DID DIDN’T MATTER?!
TWO YEARS AGO OR TEN, THIS MAN SHOULDN’VE NEVER DID WHAT HE DID
AND YOU ‘RE STILL IN DENIAL WHILE HE’S STILL DOING IT
THIS MAN KISSES HIS MOTHER WITH THOSE LYING LIPS
THE SAME LIPS HE USED TO KISS MY INNOCENCE AWAY WITH
THIS MAN CHANGED MY TRUSTING HEART
I CAN NOT TRUST ANY MAN
BECAUSE THIS MAN…
THE ONE WHO PORTRAYED A FRIEND
DECIDED TO STEAL MY INNOCENCE!
I DON’T WANT A MAN TO SMILE AT ME
BECAUSE I’LL THINK HE’S SMILING AT MY BODY
AND MY BODY STILL CARRIES THE SCARS FROM THIS MAN
FINGERPRINTS STILL VISIBLE FROM THE UNWANTED TOUCHES OF HIS HANDS
AS FOR THAT BED, EVEN WHEN I LOOK AT IT FOR A SECOND OR WHEN I LAY IN THAT
BED
I LET THE TEARS FALL DOWN THE CORNERS OF MY EYES BECAUSE IM SCARED AGAIN
ALL BECAUSE OF THIS MAN’S ATTRACTION FOR MY INNOCENCE
Form:
Our dear leader
Our favorite President
President Trump
Once again
Interjected himself
Into areas that he knows nothing about
Making a fool of himself
In the process
Why does he do this?
Time after time
Talking nonsense
It is because
He is the smartest man
In the universe
Knows more than anyone else
And so he feels
He has to comment
On everything
Under the sun
And then some more
Even when he
Does not know
What he is talking about
So painful to watch such a fool
Mark Twain had sage advice
If you want people to think
You are a fool
Open your mouth
and remove all doubt
In the midst
Of the devastating Paris Norte Dame Fire
He tweeted
“So horrible to watch the massive fire
at Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris,”
“Perhaps flying water tankers
could be used to put it out.
Must act quickly!”
Later, Mr. Obvious noted,
They’re having a terrible,
terrible fire,”
Mr Trump later told reporters.
“It looks like it’s burning to the ground.”
The French were not amused
By the unwanted advice
By the fire fighter in chief
France’s civil defense agency,
Sécurité Civile, tweeted —
once in French
and once in English
— less than two hours after Mr Trump
sent his tweet
and appeared
to directly respond to the US president.
“Helicopter or aeroplane,
the weight of the water
and the intensity of the drop
at low altitude
could indeed weaken
the structure of Notre Dame
and result in collateral damage
to the buildings in the vicinity,”
the agency wrote in French.
And despite never posting updates in English,
the agency then sent out a second tweet.
Hundreds of firemen of the Paris Fire Brigade are doing everything they can to bring the terrible #NotreDame fire under control. All means are being used, except for water-bombing aircrafts which, if used, could lead to the collapse of the entire structure of the cathedral.
— Sécurité Civile Fr (@SecCivileFrance) April 15, 2019
And the French provided
This helpful advice
To the Fire Fighter in chief
When California burned
you did not seem to be a fire expert.
Please, shut up.
It is a tragic moment
for the cultural heritage of humanity.
april 17 poem for April Month of Poetry Challenge see Writers Digest, All Poetry and my blog, https://theworldaccordingtocosmos.com for the rest
The crone can hear the children's laughter, cold as ice
And they exclaim out "witch", not thinking she can hear
Their parents then admonish, "Try to be quite nice."
Upon her thin, emaciated form they leer
Of love forbidden she has paid the awful price
Malicious magic powers all the children fear
She only wears black, mourning each and ev'ry day
Her world is full of dismal, somber shades of grey
She loved a wealthy cultured handsome gentleman
But she had not the clothes nor proper pedigree
And never would be issued any wedding bann
For poverty did not amuse his family
When finding herself great with child of his, she ran
She felt displaced, just like a dead uprooted tree
In bleak back alley child unwanted disappeared
No chance immoral tainted peccant child be reared
Although she lost her core, her heart, her soul, her mind,
She wandered dazed and crazy back to town she knew
Her fam'ly said, "We never have produced your kind."
There was no place to go and nothing left to do
But after mournful agony she came to find
Satanic powers very evil she would rue
She met the incubi in wooded forest glen
Although she knew it was an awful, grievous sin
Her soul and body raped by evil forces bold
Instilled in her the seeds of their foul awful pow'r
That grew more potent as she grew extremely old
Demolished, shattered self continued still to sour
Her sterile body, now quite barren, grew ice cold
A vile vexatious tongue lashed out at all each hour
Thus she became a bitter venomous old hag
While dressed in filthy clothes; on head, a dirty rag
She met a fine genteel young man, so good and kind
A person reaching out to all in charity
Attempted making better lives where he could find
He wanted human folk achieving parity
However, he had never met an evil mind
The succubus seduced his soul with clarity
She crippled psyche; took his cash, his bonds and stocks
Her languid lips convinced him caged; no keys for locks
Then when the moon was full one night, she murdered him
Around his vile demise all sorts of tales arose
She had dismembered rigid corpse each limb by limb
Disposed so very well of ugly bloody clothes
The whole ordeal had been a gratifying whim
Upon his naked body set a blood red rose
His corpse was never found; base tales do not abate
Today she suffers vile result of cruel fate
So when the webbed-tide snares the lunars nether recesses in its glow casting shadows that arise among the craggs wedged beside some cliffs of common confirmed debris of the unnamed fallen heaps of mucked mired forgottned decay of worthless grime not meriting the struggles of a just reclaim promptly caused to fester including the residue of the reprehensibles whose lacking morals that from some particular decedent, intrusive spirit of Ne'ermere that steer souls to the steppes of the moors, where thou commands those hounds that wish to sever your sensitive skins and drain your spirit waters down that moat where your convictions will spark a lifetime of despair, honors the ambling of the blood moon of its wayward course of trailed afflictions that you wished and begged for death's swift visit for the determined inklings inscribed on petals of the columbine and their guarded secrets, steeped in the devil's brew of stirred concoctions meant for the hags of Ne'ermere and the warlocks of destruction and mayhem who pounces playfully on their prey of the misguided who are filled with disillusioned words that are as hollow as you, e'er stretching the imaginative liquified existence exposing a mirage of iniquities galvanizing its hold of treasured happenstance of certainties lost, fulfills a page of the intrepid who is but a shimmer presenting hope a hand of salvation gathered up in a smotherance and they'll all flicker away, anointing souls spared the vacuum of insignificance for doomsday is here bridging the channeled souls in their mortal state of decay of their tenous grasp of withered mass of fiberous veins where remnants of vigourous life succumbs to their true demise of the incredibly hideous and the indescribable now in the passage way between dying and death of their heinous acts of torturous screams bellowing throughout the chamberous pits of the unwanted dead where the lame, mute, and deaf search the living dead for their body parts, of severed limbs, eyes that hang out of the eyesockets, the unjointed tendons that flay about ever so freely, stenched air that festers while not only choking of whatever remians, seemingly an act of deceny, bestowing on the residue of assemblage from the former occupant, might be afforded an instantaneous journey into the sunrise of the...everlacking.
2019 September 18
An email written to eldest daughter
December 28th, 2019,
which unwittingly, magically, accidentally...
resurfaced while scrolling
thru outdated emails
and OpenOffice documents of mine
thee evening of February 20th, 2022.
The remaining lines
comprising reasonable poetic rhyme
sent to said offspring
more than two plus years ago
and dada feels grief no more, cuz time
heals all wounds.
Papa unexpectedly overtaken with woe
flashback shook me complex edifice
head, shoulder, knees in to toe
quietly processing silent film status quo
shant upended jollity
between when a little girl no
matter mine nonconformist
mien unconditionally accepted,
ye dear daughter(s) don't know
sudden onset of anguish ho... ho... ho
holiday cavorting accentuated as
charade, facade, masquerade fueling ego
particularly Santa with the Misses,
and her sharp faux claws
keeping warm while
temperature five below.
No matter most every detail
I accurately gauge to attest
your life bustling
chock full o' zest
withheld, no doubt emotions
smolder within your chest
and kudos to thee lovely offspring
(both) packed bags
and headed out west
twas honorable duty, though now...
papa feels like
an unwanted guest
thee survived, albeit psyche bruised,
undergoing the electric
kool aid acid test
laughter when playing
Mancala, Uno, Sorry, et cetera,
how dada predictably did jest
when table turned,
I (spoiler Craigslist curb alert)
willingly, lovingly, and blithely
lost desire to win quest
to dispose cards, game
pieces, and/or glass beads
invariably other occasions
ye long since left (as thee must)
me and mother with an empty nest.
Nothing more doth
Matthew Scott ask or desire
then to delight and bask
as well educated hire
swimmingly how thee
learned to acquire
confidence and multitasking,
while I trod thru much
psychological muck mire
oft times (like now)
experiencing financial straits dire,
linkedin to when only youngster fire
within me belly to joie de vivre
peter out and prematurely expire
and yours truly reckons nothing
can change the past aghast being
deprived a marshmallow
at long ago time sharing campfire
with shortcomings scalding,
killing, crimping relationship,
courtesy lack of income
rendered paternal bond disastrously dire
doth now conclude another poetic wire.
Colors in the Dark
When I was younger I’d get scared too easily,
my mother was patience pushing back the monsters in the closet with a simple wave of her hand
as i grew my mother didn’t have enough patience to coat my form; her patience and my size were no longer proportionate.
When I hit 5’1 she looked at me eye to eye an unwanted staring contest with the underlying battle of wills
she said find the beauty in the dark
beauty in the dark
beauty in the dark
I didn’t understand what she wanted but the bags under her eyes weighed my chest down
i nodded but i didn't understand, it was a sort of forced nod where my head and brain moved on two separate courses
night//
i laid in bed staring at vague outlines searching for beauty
beauty in the dark
i only found terror in dark corners
hours fall past me like seconds on a clock
the incessant count down to my doom
hours of searching in dark corners
looking for something that wasn’t there,
looking for beauty in the dark
how do I find something
that isn’t there
desperation lead my eyes to the window
wind had cracked open my blinds
she twisted and pulled them as she danced
her cool crisp breeze beckoned me to look up
and there
I found it
the sky is never black
there is always color
tuesday indigo
wednesday hints of pink
thursday violet
colors in the dark
colors in the dark
show tuesday tree’s desperate aching limbs reaching out to join the elusive wind in her dance of flurries
but tree was rooted
stuck
wednesday wind was free
wind was wild
tree imitated
curling her limbs into shapes you had to squint at to find meaning
wind teased twirling through tree’s gnarled branches
thursday clouds cried for tree their tears dropping and drowning earth
“cloud is free” tree screamed “wind is free”
“my roots run deep my branches reach high but I am not free”
I cried for tree
my eyes unintentionally mimicked cloud
drowning myself
Tuesday//
I run outside to hug tree
I break off a branch and take it inside with me
cradling it like a newborn baby
I vowed to gray monday sky I would take it everywhere with me
with me part of tree would be free
night//
there were no screams of tuesday trees nor laughs of wednesday winds
just beauty
and colors in the dark
when another (anointed as lady lucky)
resident renter bequeathed her bed
prior to that good samaritan deed thyself and spouse
slept on the floor like dogs dead
tired from another day acclimatizing ourselves,
especially when tummies got well fed
and grudging adjustment per lying supine upon the carpet
did upon arising found aches and pains from head
to toes, yet financial shortcomings disallowed this Jed
eye wannabe to defer attending domestic chores,
cuz ma whole body felt like a Led
Zeppelin, and matter of fact oft times,
thy body electric,
though lacked no evidence of disease NED
for short, I near felt a need to relearn basic motor skills,
gingerly, and eagerly reached for
performance enhancing drug i.e. PED
which coded identification
exemplified the a rich color of red
this (and other) prescription medication
(about a half dozen total found me to sleep akin to a Ted
dee bear, many instances of snoring
thine wife claimed emanated –
probably no more than when we wed
if memory serves me correctly
twenty plus years a husband aye attest
and find peace of body, mind and spirit
most exuberant and best
cherished, when hen pecking wife (yup, this husband
got pecking, pock, puck size marks
to vouchsafe his sworn statement)
some visible on my slightly flabby and hairless chest
and if traced with a ball point pen,
the shape loosely resembles mount Everest
with evidence of what appears to be erosion,
but actually evidence of wifely cannibalism –
viz zit on par as with an unwanted guest
which at first found this pop (sic) hull
averse to share the same firm mattress lest
she arise like a flesh eating zombie
during the wee hours of the morning and taking nest
ling to another level, whereby teeth
and scratch marks sure testament asper a pest
stiff ferrous mate, this husband would sooner bid adieu,
letting fate guide terrestrial quest
that might incorporate undergoing
the electric kool aid acid test
perhaps buffeting this corporeal essence north west
or maybe the unforeseen sojourn
would spirit thyself to a distant alien nation
one where each day of soundness of mental, physical
and spiritual growth will be reason enough
to celebrate with élan and zest.