Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


Long Poem Topics

Check out these short poem topics. Find short poems by topic or form.

absence abuse
addiction adventure
africa age
allah allegory
allusion america
analogy angel
anger angst
animal anniversary
anti bullying anxiety
appreciation april
arabic art
assonance august
autumn baby
bangla baptism
baseball basketball
beach beautiful
beauty bereavement
best friend betrayal
bible bio
bird birth
birthday black african american
blessing blue
boat body
books boyfriend
break up bridal shower
brother bullying
business butterfly
cancer candy
car care
career caregiving
cat celebration
celebrity change
chanukah character
cheer up chicago
child childhood
children chocolate
christian christmas
cinderella city
class clothes
color community
computer conflict
confusion cool
corruption courage
cousin cowboy
crazy creation
crush cry
culture cute love
dad dance
dark daughter
day death
death of a friend december
dedication deep
depression desire
destiny devotion
discrimination divorce
dog dream
drink earth
earth day easter
education emo
emotions encouraging
england environment
epic eulogy
eve evil
fairy faith
family fantasy
farewell farm
fashion father
father daughter fathers day
fear february
feelings film
fire firework
first love fish
fishing flower
flying food
football for children
for her for him
for kids forgiveness
freedom friend
friendship fruit
fun funeral
funny funny love
future games
garden gender
giggle girl
girlfriend giving
god golf
good morning good night
goodbye gothic
graduate graduation
grandchild granddaughter
grandfather grandmother
grandparents grandson
grave green
grief growing up
growth guitar
hair halloween
happiness happy
happy birthday hate
health heart
heartbreak heartbroken
heaven hello
hero high school
hilarious hindi
hip hop history
hockey holiday
holocaust home
homework hope
horror horse
house how i feel
howl humor
humorous hurt
husband hyperbole
i love you i miss you
identity image
imagery imagination
immigration innocence
insect inspiration
inspirational international
internet introspection
ireland irony
islamic january
jealousy jesus
jewish jobs
journey joy
judgement july
june kid
kindergarten kiss
language leadership
leaving life
light little sister
london loneliness
lonely longing
loss lost
lost love love
love hurts lust
lyric magic
malayalam marathi
march marriage
math may
me memorial day
memory men
mentor metaphor
middle school military
miracle mirror
miss you missing
missing you mom
money moon
morning mother
mother daughter mothers day
mountains moving on
murder muse
music my child
my children mystery
myth mythology
name native american
natural disasters nature
new year new york
nice niece
night nonsense
nostalgia november
nursery rhyme obituary
ocean october
old onomatopoeia
pain paradise
parents paris
parody pashto
passion patriotic
peace people
pets philosophy
places poems
poetess poetry
poets political
pollution poverty
power prayer
preschool pride
princess prison
psychological purple
quinceanera race
racism rain
rainbow rainforest
rap raven
recovery from red
relationship religion
religious remember
repetition retirement
rights river
romance romantic
rose rude
sad sad love
satire scary
school science
science fiction sea
seasons self
senses sensual
september sexy
sick silence
silly silver
simile simple
sin sister
sky slam
slavery sleep
smart smile
snow soccer
social society
softball soldier
solitude sometimes
son song
sorrow sorry
soulmate sound
space spanish
spiritual spoken word
sports spring
star stars
storm strength
stress student
success suicide
summer sun
sunset sunshine
sweet symbolism
sympathy tamil
teacher technology
teen teenage
thank you thanks
thanksgiving tiger
time today
together travel
tree tribute
trust truth
uplifting urban
urdu usa
vacation valentines day
vanity veterans day
violence visionary
vogon voice
volleyball voyage
war water
weather wedding
wife wind
wine winter
wisdom woman
women word play
words work
world write
writing yellow
youth

Long Environment Poems | Long Environment Poetry

Long Environment Poems. Below are the most popular long Environment by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Environment poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

This TransIt ReGeneration

My TransITion began there
right there
in my woodland playground,
when I first knew
something right feels wrong to others.

I was blind to curve-balls
hurled at me.
Being "It" is not why I grow
this TransIt mind and body!

Or, is it?

Could I become TransIt
if we ubiquitously cooperated
sharing coincident TransIts?

TransIt and Ego
play best alone
united synergy.
He slows down
to notice ocean surf
waving back and forth,
echoing,
SurfEco ocean sighing "Hi" then "Low"
Upward thrusting in,
then pulling back to receive shore's insertion,
sweeping in and sucking out;
bigenerating.

Why are TransIt-Genes so shy?
Or, are we hiding herhim camouflage?
We're not sure, confident,
some of both, ambivalent
but bi-androgynous "Him,"
Yang leaning Yin,
fears no one else will notice
that surf reverses out before rolling in.

If not Bicameral She Womb,
then no incoming children of God,
one way, one gender, one race,
with the other,
one-another.

TransIts know bi-naturally cooperative laws
of primal order,
prehensile full bodied and souled grasp
of organic life's humorous ambiguity
creative ambivalence
righteous equivalence
of Yang with Yin within,
as without,
below,
as above,
before,
as to come,
long,
as to belong,
be,
as to become EarthTribe together.

It's so restraining to not love
not share
bare expose cooperatively unbalancing HermAfro-ergodic It.
S/he is soooooo much fun!
laughs with everyone,
always both Self and Other
coincidental
co-intelligent
com-prehensively ubiquitous mirth and EchoJoy,
optimal enough to return
reconnect 
breathe out Earth's abundant favor.

TransIt's polypathic polyculturing
binomial bionically binary buddha brain
saturates flowering rain,
positive with negative nutrient flow patterns,
dissects words to help
disharmonic unbalanced double-bound,
overwound loops of lazy logos.
Through permaculturing tipping-trimming needles 
of alchemy-linguistics,
decompositional exegesis of meaningful rich language,
TransIt loves to ultimately find
unerringly eisegetical and exigeneral,
generically radical revolutionary Commons,
Universal Intelligence,
post-millennial Fullerian Taoism.

TransIts choose holding hands Red Rover
over soccer,
SockHer left-brained domination;
TransIt plays teacher with His baby sisters,
but also learner,
explorer,
researcher,
synergetic incubator,
rather than driving too-techish trucks and trains,
not organic enough for our TransBionic steady diet;
TransIts think compulsively about this problem of evil
as primal resolution for Live Composting Fertilizer's
full-sponsored PolyReality Show.

While watching Leave It to Beaver,
where Father Knows Best,
TransIt wonders why Mrs. Beaver always got the wisest lines
but never the headline.

TransIt feels older and wiser then "Him"
but they are born twins
Yang over Yin
or so BionicIt seems to transmorphosize
as TransIt mysteriously explores incarnational cycles
as nature's four prime Seasons,
unveiling double-funneled raincloud whirlwinds
winding wending wu-wei Way,
revolving tips of tree hierarchies
balancing polynomial (0) Core
binomial primal Universe,
etching dipolar whorlwinds in our Memory Sea
of shared RNA-structuring identity.

TransIts abhor stability,
love spinning our revolutions of joy,
adore regenerating poly-solidarity.

TransMillennial Tao is a hollowful Zero-Core Vortex vessel,
and TransIts functions are infinitely inexhaustible!
Fathomless double-negative
like the Black Hole Fountain Head of all things.
TransIts sharp boundary edges resonantly resolving rounding off
prime torus tangles crossed untied,
TransIt light tempered balancing enlightenment,
its turmoil equivalently sub-merging and resyn-ergodizing;
yet absent darkness, like deep ecological water,
It seems to remain, 
sustain econormic Commons.
I do not know whose Sun TransIt is,
if not an image of what existed before and within
Black Hole's regenerating Progenerator
nuclear negentropic
mutually gravitational fusion
as Beloved Diastasis.

TransIts most therapeutic response to arrogance,
Left-brained hubris,
fear and anger,
maybe laughter,
both with Beloved Self and TransIt Other,
rather than justice evolving as One
without the Other.

Our most therapeutic reconnections
to what is lost,
dis-easing,
dying,
absent,
hauntingly dissonant,
are tears of anger and grief and relief and joy.
Each memory,
every TransIt-Entity,
rhetorical event,
communication within self-con-sciencing community,
carries and buries TransIts most appropriate therapy
of seasonal development
from argue through blissful enlightenment.

Minds, 
like their bodies,
heal in our own ecological reincarnational spacetime
of opportunity and risk
for integrating our Self+Other
Trans-integrity potential.

We are,
only AND every co-incidentally balanced,
this HereNow Moment's integrative,
synergetic,
+PolynomialPotential
OVER
(-)(-)non-polynomial
Yin double-bind
negative ambiguity
of consonant harmonics;
Full-octave balance
of polyculturing TransIt ReGenerational diversity.


Long poem by Robert Ronnow | Details |

Change

I am feeling the shock of fast change. How to cope with it is of course the question. Listen to Beethoven through the neighbor's window? Look up from the page? Appreciate doves even though they are so numerous? I seem to have limitless choices although this cannot be true. Could I have become a computer specialist? Sure! How to remain still in the ever-maddening mandala. To remain still on the outer edge of the wheel is to ride laughingly and pluck at the gold key. I force myself down into the craw of the black vortex New York until I feel the strong oscillations gather rhythm and expel me or accept me.

            What do I find within the black electric walls of this unique vortex? I find there is more space between people than I'd ever dared to hope. That my efforts are unnecessary and hopeless. I cancel my subscriptions and stop eating. I embrace wild roots and run through streets with arm around my girl.


                    *                                  *                                  *

What is important.
That question.
I part my lips in the middle
      and blow
eat corn chips, dipsy doodles
make love, eat grapes.
                                In their mere chronology
events have no relation. How was making love
different from eating grapes. Differentiation

is essential to bring order from chaos. The chaos
is the accelerated change created by our own species
whose consummations have a quantum effect
      on the environment.
                                   But the chaos
existed long before, and long after us
in both more serene and violent forms.
Again a duality, but here's why.
                                            For
each duality may then be said to be in a dual
relationship with another duality, forming
cubes.
           These cubes are difficult to join
with other cubes, unless first they are
somewhat melted.
                          We were traveling among
these cubes, maneuvering
through a static array of equidistant points
but finding it impossible to avoid striking them.

So why the difficulty adapting. Because no species
before us had to adapt to its own effects upon
environment? No, every species must

but our adaptations (of the world) are so successful
(such fabrications!) One green, one brown

                      Two dead leaves
                              sleep-touching
                                     Then a breeze!

                                        *                                  *                                   *

                        Loveliness and loneliness
                        these periodic
                        auras
                                 they sleep apart/together

sometimes not always
        using sheets of white nothing madly
                connecting, splicing, parturition
                        continuing to birth life and ideals
                                like ants or any other species.
                                        Tree, each poem, begins
                                                and ends and giving up
                                                        to life's forms
                                                                graciously

surrendering to greater force, power, strength
        whatever it is called, the clog of heels
                upstairs to the door, turning of
                        the key, the taking out of the
                                garbage down below, car
                                        starting, placed in
                                                gear, cat
                                                        meowing

anyway, for myself, personally, speaking only
        for myself, because although the Parks
                Department rakes the leaves as it
                        did last autumn, to keep them
                                from clogging the sewer system,
                                        I am in a heightened
                                                state of vibration
                                                        Quivering

like a long steel pipe banged hard against an
        iron beam. The hard hat feels it in
                his hand (on the gears) but
                        great buildings are built that
                                nature destroys in time
                                        with a little wind
                                                water, fire

air, you glide down through the limpid air
        toward the ninety-seven story abandoned structure
                remnant of an earlier civilization
                        abandoned but not yet entirely
                                swept away in slow waves
                                        of change.






Long poem by Robert Ronnow | Details |

Enduring Spinning: Agriculture, Culture and War

You can feel it spinning
                                fast
the Chinese, Japanese, American and European junk
orbiting at several thousand miles per hour could
                                                                  punch
a hole in your armor, future. Thanksgiving passes, then Christmas.
A nuclear detonation, we absorb that fact. The scientist in us
delays sadness by recording observations. What is is,
sorrow's for tomorrow.

By reducing probabilities to near zero I hope to avoid sorrow.
In yr suburb.
In history when there were many fewer people we still found reason
to cross space, explore, trade and war. Now
                                                            overpopulation
may not be the problem but food and water shortages
get our attention.
                         I have Korf's fears.
And hear what I want to hear.

Some hear singing, some hear speeches or complaining.
Martin Luther King sang his complaints, dreamed of a brotherly nation
which came to pass, spinning fast, past Thanksgivings, past jailings
into reconnaissance, small wars, drones, renaissance, inventions.
At the border,
                    where the Juaristas fought Maximilian:
Benito Juarez (1806-1872) Zapotec Amerindian who served five terms as president of Mexico. He was the first Mexican leader who did not have a military background and also the first full-blooded indigenous person to lead a country in the western hemisphere in over 300 years. For resisting French occupation, overthrowing the Empire, and restoring the Republic, Juarez is regarded as Mexico's greatest and most beloved leader.

Each soldier chooses what war at what border, or just
                                                                         shows up
spinning with the planet.
The neighborhood and surrounding nature is orderly.
But always there is implied force, violence holding it together,
                                                                                   chaos
is contained
kept out of the playground, government buildings, children's games
but lies within
the force maintaining order, a spinning tumor, a gyroscope of
                                                                                  inertia.
                                                                                                                
The force of the spinning, the speed of the force bring one to one's
      death
seasons, weather, earth.
                                   While the emperor's being beheaded
enduring seeds are discovered and invented, cross-fertilized and bred.
Corn, yams, potatoes, sunflowers, rice.
                                                      Food is life and a good study,
useful discipline
                      daily meditation.
                                             The fighting man protects the farmer
and the farmer feeds the fighting man.
They elect the governor
                                  who serves the people. Peace out.

Peace and war are transitory manifestations of spinning
electrons, planets.
                          The sun's a nuclear detonation, essential
to spring and planting. Food is life. Seeds endure
if man goes to his daily discipline. If woman is man.
Birth and death
                      together are orderly, the border can be known,
voluntarily. How we live together, by prayer or force,
is our story.

Knowledge
from laboratory to starry corridor keeps us very
                                                                 versed.
Did Juaristas consider the rights of animals not to be eaten?
Not during that spinning.
                                  And perform the history that surrounds us.
All that can be done
is written in the spinning:
The people of the land, the Indian farmers of North America - like their counterparts in Mesoamerica, the Andean region, and the Amazon - have continuously cultivated maize, beans, squash and other crops for more than five thousand years. One of the salient features of their traditional farming systems is the high degree of biodiversity. These traditional farming systems have emerged over centuries of cultural and biological evolution, and they represent the accumulated experience of indigenous farmers interacting with the environment without access to external inputs, capital or scientific knowledge. In Latin America alone, more than 2.5 million hectares under traditional agriculture in the form of raised fields, polycultures, agroforestry systems and the like document indigenous farmers' successful adaptations to difficult environments.






Long poem by Christine Phillips | Details |

The Stricken Corridor

Fall tumbles relentlessly on our door steps
young winter birds inducing provoking sounds scamper in trees 
Watching winter crawling slowly under our feet.

The night rain wet the ground with sadness 
washing  away the environmental stench
purging the atmosphere of  its infectious dew
And  I could absorb fresh air in my lungs again. 

I fell into a deep sleep shortly after nine but woke up 
by my next door neighbor bustling activities.
Nice showers clean fresh air is the perfect night to
be drenched with sleep but instead I was on my knees.

An unknown burden overshadowed  me, disturbing my spirit
raising my curiosity, causing me to ponder over unknown mysteries
unexplainable matters that doesn't concern me, yet they troubled me.

I soaked myself in prayer seeking for a  plausible answer 
And after praying I fell asleep again; a sleep that 
I thought would be peaceful but here I am again
on an unannounced journey to the Far East.

I mysteriously found myself on a university campus in the Far East,
no paint, no color, everywhere was deserted, no one was around
except for dry leaves  spreading out on the troubled ground 
and dull trees astoundingly lingering in the autumn breeze.
I walked propitiously through the front door along a bare corridor 
in search of a toilet to ease my body pressure.

A desolated corridor whose hope seemed to be diminished with the passing of time
a million feet must have trodden upon it, feet in search of  freedom ,
feet looking for peace, proud feet, dirty feet, bloody feet, stubborn feet.
Feet looking for revenge and feet marching to the destiny of doom. 
I moved anxiously from door to door but every door that I opened I saw
Asian toilet embedded deeply in the ground and clean water flooding all around. 

I opened another door and found a western bath filled with clean water 
I kept walking along the corridor but all the Asian toilets were flood with water.
At the end of the corridor I found one that was completely  dry but there was no toilet inside except for PVC pipe fittings planted firmly in the ground.

I tread along the opposite side of the hallway still searching for  a toilet
but only rooms whose doors were removed  and leaning helplessly
in front of them occupy the other side of the stricken corridor.


I anxiously left the building and a slim young man in his early twenties 
wearing shaded glasses ran behind a reception area outside the campus ground
and pretended as if he was at work, but that was only a deception.

As I walked passed him he tried to reached out to me
He complained about someone who has treated him badly
and pointed to a friend who was instrumental in turning his life around.
A sizable crowd gather around him as he  illustrates his painful story.

He and his friend took me to the other side of the campus where 
a larger crowd of young people had gathered for a wedding
some were sitting under large beach umbrellas
While others congregate in groups all over the campus grounds.
I walked upon a platform  where the wedding ceremony
was about to  take place but daylight suddenly exploded in my face.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            ©2014 Christine Phillips


Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Semi-Final Evaluations

In what ways have nutritional 
and health
and financial
and well-being values increased 
over past time,
whether a quarter,
or a year,
or a decade,
or a lifetime,
or a millennium,
and in what ways have toxic dissonant disvalues
and decaying trends ebbed and flowed?

Where exactly?
For whom and for not whom?
How, when, and where have we reduced and increased
both short-term and long-term economic
ecological risk?

Why do you think so,
or not?
Do you use as evidence your own lungs
and heart,
eyes and ears and feelings?
And perhaps those of your family and friends,
your local community?
How about your country of origin?
What about as a humane race toward 
Earth's Climax Global Tribe?
How is the larger DNA-regenerative fueled
branch of Earth's Tree of Life coming along
right now as compared to
when trees were the most intelligent life-formed 
diametric hierarchy?

And then there is the trunk and root system
of our entire polycultured and permaculturing
RNA-regenesis clan,
fractalling and crystalling and octaving,
folding and unfolding functions,
radically revolving and stealthily evolving.

Who is vulnerable enough right now
to truthfully teach us what they need,
who they need us to be for them?
Who is brave enough to listen?

How are we doing with our shared translation project,
syncing Eastern economies of karmic gratitude,
coincidental transactions of mutually bowing equivalence,
with Western stumbling incarnation 
of more actively graceful ecologic?
Some might even say...athletic

Herculean powerful birthing pains,
inviting yin's silent synergetic wisdom
to complement our yangish 
left-brained deductive 
languaged
metric
rhythmed
heart-beat
blood-flow ways
of reaching right's proportionally loving order;
intuited
decoding and recoding DNA/RNA
functions and binomial frequencies of octaved
ancient information systems,
shared with all our shamans and messiahs,
prophets and polypaths,
nurturers and regenerators,
producers and consumers.

How is our New Millennium mission
to love all others
all species,
all space and time incarnations
and coincidental potentialities
as interdependent with ourselves,
to bring synergetic revolutions to this
nagging competition between
eco-normic transactions and
permacultural relationships for growing ecologic values?

Have we developed our prototype
for incubating cooperative deep and wide ecological proposals
regeneratively designed to sync with global information networks
evolving cordless stringed formation,
we are what we absorb,
we are not what we dissonate?

How are we doing with combining our nutrient-value starved voices,
with chronically cash-starved voices,
performing our permaculture opera 
for philanthropists and investors and policy makers,
butchers and weapons bakers and candlestick shakers,
kings and queens and fools,
knights and damsels distressed about each other,
each inviting mentors walking their walk,
while shunning alien teachers,
optimizing ecological balance
by minimizing long-term life-investment risk?

Open system radiant energy confidently absorbs
what gravity decomposes,
waiting for adventure,
evolving toward diastatic light regeneration.

Deduce from past solar systemic orthopraxis
what we induct from future's optimizing intent.

Invest cooperatively in eco-confluent coincidence,
to divest of competitive ego-cognitive dissonance.

As before, so after,
as without, so within.


Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Why Kites Fly

Fear and violence and guilty judgment
display synaptically sharp,
competing "Loser!" skittish economies.
Love and active peace sustain buoyance,
resilience,
robustly revolving away
from red skies of mourning;
cooperatively mutual Win-Win
ecology of evolution.

I want so badly to fly my competing belief kites,
and faith,
for my string to remain confidently taut,
vibrantly humming and singing my self-righteousness,
intrinsic value and merit,
for my eisegesis to transcend up and out
catching our multi-cultural wind,
decomposing old ways of competing
as we bow to my better judgment,
declaring my Orthodox wisdom kite
the Winner!

Still,
your kite won't fly this way,
or hasn't after all these frustrating
lean growing years of learning our faith
in competing paradigms,
where one must be more right,
the best kite,
but really not just the best,
because we would each love to obliterate
all inkiting competition.
Our ego-cycling judgment
reads and studies why each must be elite
to lead losers behind.

Meanwhile, some of us are relearning,
re-ligioning,
reconnecting,
reweaving kites flying best together
like wedges of geese
balanced and resiliently squawking
our glad tidings,
"It's warmer south,
and colder north,
and vice versa,
depending on which habitual hemisphere
you dominantly favor."
 
Together we catch post-millennial wind
to soar our joyously cooperating kites
in Golden self-regenerative atmosphere of inclusive grace.

If my eisegetical kite won't fly right,
if my EarthTribe can't hear or understand
or care about what I have to proclaim,
I listen deeper
to find how high
my kite might float
in richer racing flowstreams,
as positive deviant diversity
among mutually mentoring companions,
quacking our coincidental ecologic.
 
We find each Other's incarnated contours,
adjusting,
nuancing,
merging one breath,
two resonant heartbeat kites,
then three....

Then rise to fly apart.

Floating back,
breathe,
sustain mutual listening,
sync-rhythmic vibrant revolution
spiraling up and away,
soaring eastern harmonies,
dancing inkited incarnate breeze.
 
Left-Right well-bowed bicameral sparring confluence
balancing peace
toward mutual gratitude,
centering mindfulness soaring regeneratively up
reducing tipping-tail dissonance and stress,
waving down and up
in and out
back and forth to smile warm namaste.

Leaning left proposes inspiration,
flexing right disposes expiration,
together swelling prime (0) spinal soul,
our permacultural kite-fly system
fractally equivalent decomposing,
air-born swimming,
interdependent open windowed balance,
which was our Original Intent,
to reach up toward bicameral balancing flight,
as Left breathes in
Right breathes back out regifting Earth,
positively praying revolution's gratitude.

Breathing out what you breathe in,
breathing in what you breath out,
inspiring information,
expiring exformation,
my Yang inhale our Yin exhale,
my Yin exhale our Yang inhale,
balancing (0)-sum ecologic stress,
flying our long-taled inter-nesting kite.


Long poem by Vicki Acquah | Details |

THE NATURE OF THINGS

The Nature of Things

Birds ATE Worms,
Worms Tilled Soil,
Frogs ATE Flies,
Bees Made Honey,
Fish ATE Worms,
People ATE Fish,
Cats ATE Fish
Butterflies and bees
Pollinated.
Grass Grew, and the
Dandelions flew
al aroun' all aroun'
and Were Welcomed,
Life was simple back then.
Preying Mantis fought.
Snails made slime.

And the green grass
Still grew sublime
The trees bowed in dignity
and neutralized  the
Pollutants in THE AIR...
Then gave US the Oxygen
we breathed,
and the red clover grew
all aroun' all aroun'
Even the rocks did their part ,

Filtered the water and trickled

it down,to well up Into Springs...

Purified...and the red clover grew

all aroun' all aroun'

That was the nature of things...

when men loved naturally.

Until the disorder.

Who ordered the disorder.

If you if you do not know now.

Oh well!

I won't Tell --To bad for us all.

All I know, It was not that long ago

OK, I Will Tell ..it is

M o N S A N TO...Monsanto !

Now what we gonna do,

wait for our Karmic potion?

What goes around comes around...

and the red clover is

no longer all over-

and the green grass no longer grows

all aroun' all aroun'..

"Round up I would say.

"Agent Orange", the other nay

Every dog will have his day,

stay out the way

of other peoples karma .                                                                                                                             
Always ring the

alarm when you see

or smell harm

believe in your Intuition.

This is my last poem

In which I will speak

of times past,or will

I speak of blue skies

and babbling brooks.

I will tell you that truth

was written in books.

I will speak of air raids,and braids.

I will tell you how we went from

Empresses and Queens to slaves,

and from Stewards and

Kings to our graves.

I will inform you that people need

to get back on the right tract.

Will ask you to find your

dignity and take it back.

I will ask you to be vigilantes,

and stand up. Before we all fall down.

Before no more green

grass grows allaroun', allaroun'

I would ask you to draw lines and never

let anyone cross your boundaries.

I would tell you that the

herbs and the vegetables

were our medicine,study them

and get to know them again.

I would implore you to

question everything.

You are more than able

And never follow the crowd.

read the labels

We use to have Songs like

Black and Proud, or War by war.

War (uuugh) "What is it good for"

I would say so much to you

and send this hug to you.


Today I might be dead

and gone, but call on my spirit

and I will come.

Blood Sweat n Tears sang

"there will be one child born...to carry on"

Know that this battle can be won.

And no matter what

stay true to the real you,

whenever in doubt

Shout...the ancestors out ...

We are only a dimension away.

And that my friends is...

"The Nature of Things ".


Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/darwins_post_natural_dilemma_677654' st_title='Darwin's Post-Natural Dilemma'>

Darwin's Post-Natural Dilemma

Elder Darwin is lost in ethology.
He rolls in his deep grave ecology.
He itches and scratches his dissonance
that survival of the fit and dense
implies manifest destiny for those YangStrong
while Darwin's Cross and his own eyes
clearly disguised
this camouflage thrival of deepest flexible fitting nest.
Within polycultured communities and creations,
natural recreations,
Father's redemptive grace-gift:
Yang sustain through Yin within
mutually comprehending fitness.

If only our Elder had more faithfully looked up
and out
as Bucky the Fullerest did cooperatively shout,
ubiquitously pout,
prophet of future's positive synergy
like Solar-Systemic fusion energy
photosynthesizing light's Common co-op horizon.
With Sun as shamanic Progenitor
and Mother Earth as pre-genetive virginal womb,
prime-natural cooperative transactional contractions
issued diverse relay racing generations,
needing to redeem our global EarthTribe Team.

This problem of Evil,
like Kuhn's problem of incommensurable coincidence,
resolutioned as Manifest Dual-Destiny,
dying breath through inductive rebirth,
Yang's natural economic strength can't sustain
without Yin's DNA encoded bicameralogical brain
flexibly Jaynes balancing
with Yang's deductive-reflective linguistic notice,
prehensile prancing
in without 
as EcoWe within.

Nature challenges just enough
to optimize cooperative transactions
interactions
ecotherapeutic relations,
synergetic fusions.
Competitive eco-bio-logic
pinch-hits primal peace
when revolutioning double-bind dissonance,
resolving suboptimal dissonant trim tabs
discerning tipping points of optimally resonant double-negative 
wu-wei,
means to fusioned
full-octaved
content-ends,
SuperEco's positive revolution,
cooperative economic systems,
Win-Win Intelligence 
Polypathic Way.

To evolve all deductive solar seasoned days,
we resolve our resonantly intuitive lunar cycling
ringing
singing
story-telling strings of Dark Holed night.

Bucky's response to Darwin's Dilemma,
thriving cooperative win-win systems
of primal fitting-in-ness,
challenging each and all to do our best
to win together:
to optimize positive systemic natural revolutions
of principle and order,
design an optimal evolutionary environment;
to purge ourselves of insubordinate competitively gluttonous economics,
invest more in mutually subsidiary cooperative deep ecologics;
ringing greater resonance in octaved natural systemic circles,
not-quite-so-much Independence Daze
Lose-Lose marching in mutual-immunity squares
of autistically demented, 
collectively encultured craze.

Treat within as without,
to stick without within,
before as after,
to reflect after as if before,
response as stimulus,
effect as cause of what came after,
object as subject of mutually curious interest,
objectives as subjects of mutually cooperative subsidiarity,
dissonance as confluence
to resolve confluent dia-resonance,
Yang as Yin
to Yin optimally inclusive Yang sustaining life.


Long poem by John lawless | Details | . You can read it on PoetrySoup.com' st_url='http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/i_cant_breathe___a_rant_625520' st_title='I CAN'T BREATHE - a rant'>

I CAN'T BREATHE - a rant

I CAN’T BREATHE

I am being suffocated by causes.
Will we march Quixote-like
enraged by the spinning of the windmills?
We protest the wars carrying placards
while expecting others to carry arms,
praise God and worship Jesus while
condemning all others to eternal damnation.
How many would offer to abort – an abortion –
by offering to adopt the child at birth,
feed the hungry at their own kitchen table,
stage a “die-in” in the lobbies of academia
demanding they empty their cash filled
endowment accounts – and give to the poor,
clothe the naked, drill wells for the thirsty.
In our effort to “Celebrate Diversity” are we
selectively excluding those who are just
too diverse for us?  Must we sacrifice our
history and culture on the altar of inclusiveness?
Perhaps, in time, our exhalations will become
toxic to an environment devoid of trees to
balance our co-dependent existence.
Why are the rights of the 1% minority less
important than those of the 99% who claim
to be in the majority.  Are not politicians corrupt
by the very nature of the political power structure?
Should we vote blindly because we do not
listen – only hear what we want to hear,
sit in the eye of the hurricane of apathy
warning all of the dangers outside of it,
tax the poor to fund programs for the poor,
subsidize farmers to grow less to keep the
prices high, rail against compromises in
the privacy laws while posting our lives
on Face Book, twitter, and u-tube.
Have we forgotten the cries of the oppressed:
“No more genocides, no more holocausts”,
turned our backs, averted our eyes
lest we see the horror we negligently condone.
Will we black out all our bumper stickers,
discard all of our tee shirts, assist the
elderly shopper in reaching the high shelf,
pick up after our pets – or even more
spiritually – pick up after someone else,
speak to the disheveled panhandler –
if only briefly - to say good morning,
contribute more than money and
three cans of tuna to the food drive,
assist voters to the polls regardless
of their political leanings, allow those
who do not see our concerns as having
any real value their opinion.  Will we(I)
be their when the marches are over,
the media bored with the cause, the
placards torn and faded, the enthusiasm
waning as work, school, exams, life –
and the living of it – move us back to
the eye of the maelstrom, the safety of
conformity, the “peace” of acquiescence.

Or will we scream each morning
“LET US BREATHE”.  Let us breathe
life and passion and power into our
day, reach out and “BE CAUSE”,
stay the course lest the ship lose
it heading, run aground on the shoals
of false satisfaction at how involved
we were, how much we accomplished.

Will we breathe the breath of truth,
of freedom, of love, of peace, of unity
across this land reaching to the shores
and forests of our world, reaching to
touch the hand of that stranger
who lives next door.


John G. Lawless
12/13/2014 



Long poem by Nsamu Moonga | Details |

The One I Love The One who Love Me

It is a Sunday morning.

The day before was still,

yet eventful and surprising:

sacredness met in holy places

and inspired persons.

Petrified trees and slave traders’ bedrooms;

cattle grazing and the ancient one sleeping.

The quiet sounds of lit boats by night,

and the sounds of men returning home

to meet with the people they love –

those who love them.

They sing and dance around their catches.

The wind carries the sounds miles on end,

conspiring to bring home love never possessed.

 

The one who loves me never says goodbye.

I am lullabied by the twinkling of the boat lights,

an assortment of colours.

I am awakened by the voice of the one who loves me –

The one I love –

in the sound of the waves of the lake;

the colour of the lake speaks primordial presence.

 

‘Good night’ and ‘good morning’ are not words any more.

They contain the eternal call to 

being still and knowing that where I am is eternal Presence.

I am here to learn how to be human as if for the first time.

I am drawn back to the place

where I learned to walk and talk;

the place where I learned to love and laugh;

the place where I learned to live and leave;

I learned to query and question;

search and never be satisfied by little.

 

The one who loves me – the one I love –

has known this journey even before it began,

long before I imagined it.

It began in eternity and ends nowhere.

 

I arise to the awareness that love is 

not for the knowing.

It is in the little awe at the 

sight of the vastness of a lake;

hearing the sound of the morning wind,

the sound of the waves knocking on the

door of the lake;

delighting in the brightness of the colours of the birds;

in holding on to the fear of otherness in

animals we call wild;

in the cuddle of the one who loves me –

the one I love;

in a mother embracing her child to security;

in the fright due to a sinking boat;

in the courage of a night-time fisherman;

in the drunkenness of a dreaming young man;

in the playfulness of a kapenta seller;

the closeness of a child on mother’s back;

the silences of the winding roads;

the inquisitiveness of a little child;

in the confidence of a babe;

in the enjoyment of song and dance of a grown-up man;

in the pleasure of friendship;

the communion of family;

the embrace of loving spouses;

in the laughter of young lovers;

in the trust of daring divers;

the sacrifices of trench diggers;

the freshness of cold drinking water;

shared dreams and fears;

the strength of the dam walls;

trusting the bridge will hold you;

the welcome of the shrines;

the generosity of those we love;

the daring of the swimming child;

the warnings of crocodiles and hippos;

the heat and the sweating;

the savour of food and drink;

in the beautiful places and the ugly;

the contrast between pools and the lake;

the pain of returning to business as usual;

the tear on parting…

 

The one I love –

and the one who loves me –

truly never says goodbye.


Long Poems