Long Worsens Poems
Long Worsens Poems. Below are the most popular long Worsens by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Worsens poems by poem length and keyword.
To write a tongue twister is not funny mister
I just don’t know where to begin
There’s one that I’ve written with which I’m quite smitten
But I’d had a very large gin...
Workers wrinkles worsen when wind worsens winters worst weathers
If your decision is instant derision
I guess I should try it again
So here is another, I pray to my mother
That your words will not cause me pain
Working writers write written works: Writing workers write workers rights
But too many choices in too many voices
Might just leave some of you floored
So I think one more is plenty before
I leave every one of you bored...
Fierce forest fires frazzle thrushes feathers
So, okay, I’ll brave it and say that’s my fav’rit
I hope that it tangled your tongue
But if that one didn’t but one of them did
It means that my song had been sung
P.S... Freds frozen fingers feed thread through first
7 January 2021
Contest: Tongue Twister Challenge
Sponsor: Joe Sandler
Did silent lullabies make you fall asleep peacefully
while some child of your blood squealed in his cradle: He was left alone.
He wished you had stayed longer
and yearned for a better life.
You gave him promises,
You gave him hopes,
But none of those came true
Until he realized it was a hoax.
Did you think he misjudged the situation,
concluding you were not a good example?
Contrary to your proud wife’s opinions,
You are the delight: A source of joy.
So tell the boy he is wrong.
You might love how things went downhill for him when you left.
He thought that you enjoyed it.
He had a lot of questions to ask,
But no one from his clan wanted to answer his confusions:
“Why is life getting more eccentric as time passes?”
“Why did you leave him so soon?”
Do you know that his pain gradually worsens each year?
It drives him to the depths of delusion.
Still, he hoped to celebrate this day,
But he could not find a reason to say, “Happy Father’s Day.”
All he thinks about is…
You are not a good father.
Never were, Never will be tomorrow,
Not even in his midnight musings.
My husband is hard hearted I am sorry to say
Whenever I am sick
In pain
He just doesn't bother.
Goes to office
Sits and relaxes
He even gives me extra work
I feel hurt and cry.
This is surely not love.
He is selfish
When I tell him on face he is heartless.
It is not right he should help me.
He merely says I love you.
I want you to be strong.
Till now I never understood
But today I realised
Thanks to his behaviour
I can work even when unwell
Most pains I can tolerate
by keeping my mind away from them
If you rest in sickness
If you keep thinking of it
Situation worsens
But with will power
If you get up and work
You automatically feel better
Mind in task at hand
Busy at work
Can really help forget your body ailments
Now unless I am not able to get up from bed
In all other situations I can work
I have become stronger and feel nice about it
Whatever God does is for our good!
Note : True story of a friend. Written as told by a her
18th March 2021
The phone rang.
Saying “Hello,” more quietly.
Saying nothing.
And the nothingness worsens over time.
Times of hopelessness don’t exist.
It’s just hopelessness.
Not any particular time.
Not any particular tear, or frown.
I’m just some perfect circle, who is shaking imperceptibly.
Nothing really happens.
I am dead in a sparkly way.
Now I am.
Saying things about hurt, but I don’t think that exists.
If someone asked my favorite memory?
It would be me telling everyone about how sad I am.
They would just stand there.
You can’t know what they say.
Just murmuring, maybe.
People abuzz, whispering, making me happy with rumors that are real.
I’m depressed and now they know.
That never really happened.
I still live, anyway.
I won.
The master of mischief shatters her darling windowpane,
grey-haired ninja lady twists her bulletproof cane.
Oh poor antique walls displeased at this routine,
they groan and wither at what this battle has been.
Granny in her sixties against the kid aged 5 to catch,
the monkey business in this house with none to match.
Broken cups, torn pillows-- souvenirs from February,
they race around this mansion like Tom and Jerry.
The war worsens for TV remote on tranquil summer nights,
none of them ready to surrender to switched off lights.
So one day I gifted them a canvas and new colors to paint,
their eyes lightened up at separate sets for no complaint.
Granny's lonely memories bring symphonies of showers,
she remembers how much she loved painting flowers.
They smile, excited to learn floating in pink and blue,
together, painting masterpieces in a dazzling lilac hue.
Like tendrils of grapes and melons in my garden they grow,
strokes in unison splashed with colors on a single canvas flow.
It wasn't so difficult to guide their enthusiasm so bright,
I sigh playing with my TV remote-- Tom and Jerry at last, unite.
June 18, 2020
To whom much is given much is expected, land of the free
For when His Light is reflected then all will be able to see
Yet His Light has gone away, as evil seems to tighten its grip
No longer knowing how to pray, that bitterness worsens with each sip
Praying for all the people in now the latest of these attacks
But as we gather together in the steeple it is our prayer that lacks
God hates the shedding of innocent blood in especially, His Unborn
Still wondering why such the flood of our Holly Father's Righteous Scorn
Calling His Name we beg for mercy, then show none of our own
Murdering Innocence with a decree and sealed with a self-righteous tone
In God there is no difference, for He has created us all
Yet, still being so vociferous about a gunman and his gaul
Will these attacks continue in what seems a quickening pace
I believe that's up to us and the next vote that we will face
With over six million lives at stake in praying to the One above
Don't make the reprehensible mistake of trying to limit God's love
Isaiah 59:7- 8
Their feet run to evil, and they are swift to shed innocent blood; their thoughts are thoughts of iniquity; desolation and destruction are in their highways. The way of peace they do not know, and there is no justice in their paths; they have made their roads crooked; no one who treads on them knows peace
It's the simple things,
That matter so much.
A kind smile a hug, handshake
Or a gentle touch
Gentle is a lovely word
A word that says it all
Gentle words and gestures
Help others if they fall
There is so much in this world
That causes sorrow and grief
We all need a gentle touch
To unite and bring relief
This destructive virus
Has brought things to a head
Some of our fellow men
Have been very easily led
Believing empty promises
Given by those in Power
Not caring about the
Consequences
That worsens by the hour
Suddenly more people
Are looking closer at politicians
Nobody expects them to be
Jugglers
Or magicians
Every thinking man
Realises if we want to put things right
The thing that we must avoid
Is picking up weapons to fight
Fighting gets you nowhere
It makes a situation worse
Gentleness is needed
To remove us from this curse.
A poem I wrote a few years ago
In the shadows of my mind
I see there painted black
Suffering as if he’s blind
In the darkness is his knack
Pain and sorrow he brings
Knowing that we dread
The day when he rings
The bell whom we’ve fled
Our demise brings him glee
Like it will bring others grief
From him we cannot flee
He comes around like a thief
For tender worries to remind
Why he might hold back
His grim touch unassigned
Demise that will attack
Mysterious and filled with fear
He delights in our termination
Welcoming us any time of the year
With a sad and gloomy flirtation
Whether morning, noon or night
He isn’t a respecter of persons
Often greeting us with fight
Against some illness that worsens
Ethereal silence accompanies him
With a vague, misty beckoning
Coloring our hearts a deep grim
Because it’s the day of reckoning
As I contemplate the time of death
With curiosity that is quite eerie
I am assured that I will draw breath
In paradise where it is never dreary
STRAND COMPLETELY NEW (25) ,any form,any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
August 20, 2020
Visions Of Match Stick Girl
(“A Christmas Tale”)
New Year’s Eve came in the dark, on the cobbled stone street
On frigid snow and bitter cold, on the little shoeless, hatless girl
Visions of the match stick girl came through
Her name was Mary; lost like a little lamb in fog and ice
London has that effect on fragile things in England winters
She lost her parents too and oversized slippers there
The ones her mum once wore and gave to her with such care
Mother, father and slippers gone in an instance in the snow
Rolled over by two speeding carriages that killed them cold
She sells her match sticks by the River Ripper
Signs read, “No guns or knives permitted about the wharf”
Match girl does not fear for things she cannot read
But for her life and freezing on the New Year’s Eve
She sells only one match at a time
For a penny or a pence for what they’re worth
Poor girl has few customers along the river
As foul weather sets in and worsens
She stumbles sickly, stubs her toe on cobble stones
But still sings merrily against the folding snow
Not for contest
Based on Theme- The Little Match Girl by H.C. Andersen
“A Christmas Tale”
Someday soon
a season that is very harsh
will overtake us -
be it in the summer
(when the lack of rainfall
and autumn's chill are obliterated
way past the fall,
leaving mouths parched and bodies sweltering
beneath an unrelenting sun)
or whether it be in winter and beyond that season -
(when fierce frigidity worsens
and below zero temperatures
have people freezing
in their very own homes),
this fifth season will come upon
all people of the world.
Many will wonder . . .
what does it mean?
Those in the know
will be prepared, not just physically,
but spiritually, emotionally and mentally as well.
Prepare yourselves, good people
who understand my meaning.
Be prepared and stand not in fear.
Nov. 7, 2022
For Anthony Biaanco's "The Fifth Season Poetry Contest