Long Aborts Poems
Long Aborts Poems. Below are the most popular long Aborts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Aborts poems by poem length and keyword.
Coming from the same plane.....
They start talking, he offers to buy her a drink which she agrees
A soft drink, it's just fanta
He shows her how to put the straw in through the lid
This is her first time using such fancy cups and lids
She is a new traveller, going for further studies
He had mentioned to her that he had already arrived to his destination, Amsterdam
But as he watches her, her shy eyes, always looking down at her drink
He suggests that they wash up after their drinks before "their next flight"
He mentions a couple of upscale rooms
She softly declines, she remembers her aunt's words to never trust anyone
This is the tourist, the man dressed in suit
The man that can smell an easy prey from far
He can smell new, naive and fresh as easily as he blinks his eyes
So many years later, the once little girl remembered the tourist
And wondered how much damage he must have caused on the shores of Mombasa during his tours, preying on poor innocent girls..
She stands at the mirror trying to straighten her short hair
He stands behind a little further watching her
Admiring her growing curves, his eyes move from her rounded bottom, to her hips and as she turns around (unaware of his presence), he continues his adventure to her chest.
This is the uncle that shamelessly buys his niece underwear
Very culturally inappropriate
He loves when she visits
This is the preteen girl, that hides a lot of this story, family can never know
This is the fifteen year old girl who goes to a 'back door clinic' and aborts
But she is not a little girl anymore, she is a well educated woman holding a phd
But with frequent relationships struggles
Once a week she goes for therapy, to help deal with her demons
Because someone messed her up
Continued............
Here silence reigns supreme all time,
And evening melts away
Into the night in distant sight
From where the locals stay.
The murmur of the grove distracts
My stiff and weary shin,
Yet they move on and trudge along
The dark and shady green.
There oft the sun departs so soon,
He creeps behind the hill,
His lustrous rays no more embrace
The woods with happy zeal.
A flight of birds are yet to steer
Back to their cozy niche,
Their sudden flap aborts the nap
Of a hare against its wish.
A cricket chirped moments ago
But now it drowsed certain,
The graveyard lies beneath the skies
Serene in twilight rain.
An olive spreads its drooping bough
Beside the muddy way
The dew and mist each other kissed,
While on a tuft I lay.
I viewed the farthest rock in mind
As if I dreamt a dream
Of spirits keen on being seen,
As volatile as steam.
I heard a mellow voice at once,
As sweet as a summer song,
It beckons me to the cemetery
I sauntered all along.
Never I felt my limbs so numb,
As though I levitate,
A mastiff howls to the parted souls,
Who love to emanate.
What have I seen, it steeps my mind
With a never-presumed state,
The knights and reverends upward soar
To blame their sorry fate.
Most lonely I assumed myself,
I now see a lonelier face,
Or is my mind of reason blind
That views a captive race?
Tonight I will converse with you,
Upon your flowers I sleep,
The marble frame protects your name,
Where softly I shall weep.
22nd September, 2021
Each day an extension of my time
so each morning a risk and opportunity
to avoid greedy egocentrism
to step into harmonious eco-centered consciousness.
Each still-wombed entity extends Mother's incarnating time
so each maternal risk and opportunity,
each free will act of paternity,
aborts competitive egocentrism
by extending bipartisan consciousness,
wisdom's good faith fertility
for our co-operating future.
Each life extends time's enculturing memory
of secularizing risks
and sacred opportunities
avoiding evolution's monopolistic dead ends
by embracing revolution's polyculturing awareness.
Each moment incarnates maternity's wombed memory
of monoculturing risk and polypathic opportunity
to avoid deductive domination's severance
by mutually embracing
multi-paradigmatic synergy.
Time is a unitarian womb
and its omnipotence is universal!
Fathomlessly ubiquitous.
Like the double-binding revolutionary progenitor of all things.
Its smooth-structured boundaries resonating
prime relationship not-not tangles informing,
untying,
Its Earth tempered balance of enlightenment,
Its turmoil decomposing dissonant understories
Yet
like dark deep ecological flow
it sustains Earth's green/blue Commons.
I do not know whose holonic embryo
EarthTime fractally unfolds,
a 4-dimensional echo
of seasonal reincarnation
within bicameral communion.
Neither do I keep stored any secrets of my own created images
of the past in the eyes, mind, and heart combined together,
Nor do I entertain any desire to strive for
knowing the secrets of my fellow travelers
Emotional feelings move faster than the speed of the thunders of the dense dark monsoon thundering of the clouds in the sky
Most of the time in our lives, we get stuck motionless in thoughts of
what, where, and why more than often we are not sure,
What we are feeling like, so we react wrongly
The gravitation of the mental and spiritual thoughts brought together like a magnet
and the iron
Unless there is a balanced symphony between the mind and the heart
We will inevitably fall into the pit deep down between the pillars pushed widely apart
Actions moved away from the genuine planning of the progressive thoughts
Not even the divine power can bring it to pulsating life if once it aborts
Persistent negativity in the process of our thoughts multiplies the depressive psychic of the mind and the heart fast
Unless we shake off our persistent sense of the guilt complex,
That keeps us get lost hanging in the dense dark cave of the hovering past
AN EPITAPH
Will liberty ring out again,
beneath the cries of human rights
can freedom's name survive,
dissembling and lies;
Will duty from its prison flee
throw off its shackled memory,
is respect just a word,
spoken,but never heard:
How long, how long 'til I becomes thee ?
when ,when, will ego bend the knee,
the victim is not me
my friend, my friend,it's we.
Who rings this bell of liberty
truly sounds,our culture's death knell.
YESTERDAY
Where are our
yesterdays
here today
gone tomorrow-
a page in history
oftime forgotten,
the past buried-
fragments
of memory
unearthed by a voice
a song
a photograph-
lived again
through a sepia lens
ACROSS A ROOM
Beauty is something we see
with individual eyes,
deep within our soul,resides
attraction,waiting ,asleep
yet longing to be aroused;
Our need to be recognised,
a desire to recognise,
reciprocate and hold close
subtle scents,inherent and
so universally held;
A certain something unique,
intercourses between eyes,
a novel read by a glance
in seconds,might last a lifetime
indelibly imprints,love;
Only time,can reveal
imperfections of conceit,
when ego retreats and
aborts the frail foetus in
pools of recrimination.
Listen to me read these poems on youtube under name ichthyschiro
Perfect Oneness
“But you shall remember the LORD your God, for it is He who is giving you power to make wealth, that He may confirm His covenant which He swore to your fathers, as it is this day.” Deut 8:18 NASB
My heart is at such peace
With the Father’s will.
I write the songs he gives me,
When I sit and be tranquil.
The lyrics come so easily,
When I take a pen and write.
Sometimes God gives me the music,
So I sing to him with delight.
It’s in my surrender
That the Perfect Oneness comes.
God uses me, his instrument;
A servant my mind becomes.
I surrender to his Holy Spirit,
And ask him to control my thoughts.
The Perfect Oneness is so natural,
Only human interruption aborts.
In Perfect Oneness of purpose,
The words flow readily,
Not because I’m learned,
But the Spirit that works through me.
I am a scribe for heaven;
The words do surely flow,
To glorify my Father,
To his children here below.
I do not question what the Spirit
Tells me each time to write.
I do not know what’s coming,
Until it’s within my sight.
Sometimes it’s Bible verses
That give inspiration to my soul,
But the Perfect Oneness of the Spirit,
Has to be God’s ultimate goal.
Copyright © 2012 Maureen LeFanue
www.maureenlefanue.com
What kind of man would rape his Mother
What kind of man you are
What kind of man would kill his brother
What kind of man you are
Save his soul
Vile, low down, wretched sinful one
Where you coming from
Purposely wanderer wanting to harm
Hurt each and everyone, everyone warn, RUN
Determined to have your I'll gotten ways
Better stop choose right go left
Accept Jesus Christ
Amen
What kind of man abuses children,
What kind of man you are
You are of your father your daddy satan
You choose what you do
Your uncle Cain
You know the one who killed Abel
What kind of man destroys all his and yours
What kind of man steals from God
What kind of man you are
What kind of man implores evil for fun
Then turns laughs and runs
So what kind of man you are
What kind of man worship satan
What kind of man kills
When a man love is for real
What kind of man that's no, no, no what kind of man abuses his girlfriend
What kind of man you are
What kind of man cares only for his self, preservation
What kind of man makes his girlfriend the child in the womb aborts
What kind of man you are
07/07/74©1974, 2017
From demo cassette/LP "The World May End Tomorrow"
James Edward Lee Sr
The
Poorest
Choice in life.
I’m not being judgmental nor commenting on my feedback I’m just clarifying and
respectfully explaining my view of the poem. I appreciate the feedback, I understand when a
poem is written everyone relates to it in a different way. One never knows the ramifications
of a single piece of work. In the epigram form there is not much to work with due to the six
syllable meter. In my initial thought of ‘Aborted,’ from my creative perspective, was a
metaphor of aborting a single thought.
If one aborts a thought, the poem cannot be born into existence, thus no life of words,
no poetry, nor a beautiful contribution to literature to continue or record our stay in time,
etc.
I categorized my poem as life because we abort things daily and that’s a part of life. I am
explaining the creative depth of my poem’s entirety.
Yes, life can be aborted along with a thought, or a wonderful opportunity.
When poetry is written it is usually draped in metaphors and similes from the creators vision
and unique perspective. I hope my explanation shows the depth of a poem goes way deeper
than its surface... Raul Moreno
truth, word play. silly, how I feel, spoken word, humour, food
PALINODES STOLEN To LIFE’S CHANGES!
I would like to say; this ‘palinode stolen from life’s trials and tribulations---
To what I have said before and I’ll say again; in all ‘ways’ it takes but two to tango!
Two sides are given to a story; one side right and one side wrong---
Two choices of turn ‘aborts’; either you’re in or you’re either you’re out…
When having to call:
“A spade is a spade’ and can be told,
either black or changed to white---with and to ‘no buts’ in between!
Calls can be heard or not heard….
Depending on the choice “to hear or not to hear’ ---
That is the question and which (calls to mind) of having a very ‘selective hearing’ answering with an neither ‘yay or a nay’---
What did you say, I can’t understand? I don’t hear you---
If I have told you once, I have told you twice.
Some seaweed we eat, and some seaweed we don’t eat!
Survival of the fittest begets a long stay or a short stay
And some seaweed shall be used for fodder!
Love is
so much stronger
than hate…
Hate aborts
all that is
good…
Love is
a pregnancy
that always gives
birth:-
Hate pontificates
that which
is called fear
but strengthening
love silences
weakening fear…
In the healing
atmosphere
of life
hate evaporates
but love
absorbs
healing sunshine
and serenely flows
with her frothing waves
splashing upon
the shores of life…
The moonlight
of love
will always
drown
the darkness
of hate
for where love
abides
hate can never
be:-