Long Affectations Poems
Long Affectations Poems. Below are the most popular long Affectations by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Affectations poems by poem length and keyword.
I would just like to say
that it is my impression
that longer hair
and other flamboyant affectations
are male dominant immersions
from sadly dull camouflage
into the birthright
and left
of his trans-pangenderal sex.
And I would also like to say
that it is my impression
That wars
and bombs
and other ballistic
bad depressions
are far more likely
as our fast paced race
toward mass extinctions
are killing Earth's
healthiest climate pace.
And I would further
not like to say
that it is my impression
While predative parasites inhabit
and colonize our landmass
we're also trash dumping
our oceans
swamping our warnings wasted
polluting our breath
about rabid tendencies
to eat our own young
with sick competitions
in militaristic fun.
And I would just like to say
that it is my sad impression
Apartheid is shunning
and rabidity is plumbing
as life losing EarthTribes
continue succumbing
to Mutually Assured
RightWing Destruction,
MAD rabid bullies blaming
and judging
and shaming
while throwing away care
for all those Others
not part of We,
most supremely
straight white patriarchal
Me.
I would just like to say
that it is my mad impression
Grown in a sacrileged perspiring image
of JehovahGodYahweh's
avenging AllahWe
maybe shouldn't die off
quite so quietly
when Earth's Great Rapture
smells like ecocide
rabid unraveling decidedly
What Gaia would just like to say
health is Her wealthiest impression
That wars
and bombs
and rabidity
are humanity's
own RightBrain repressing
LeftBrain dominant depressing
historically hysterical
degenerative stupidity
Lack of whole-sum
bi-spectacled fluidity
I would justly love to say
and sing
and dance
for less degenerative
climatic morbidity.
I'll write of things lamentable like poor shipwrecked loves,
Tempest-tossed by bestial winds behind unfeeling storms;
Ripped apart by the furious middles of swift-gusting winds,
Voyaging to dream-born shores away from boring homes.
I'll tell of the Fate-shattered dreams of earth's surest bet.
Painting how those naive shoots untimely waterloos met,
Leaving tender footprints new on antiquity's fierce sands;
Blossoming stars offed by hard luck's experienced hands.
My verse will endeavor to weave history's accurate tales.
Parodying villainy within quiet complacency's stronghold,
Shaming eccentricities in black nooks by raw truth untold;
Inking sagest anecdotes that any finessed raconteur hails.
Of first-hand swills or soured affectations I will not write.
For the self-loving bard’s quill falters from black to white,
As he relives a narcissist's replica of alleged first-felt lots,
And his best tropes mimic mere ego-embellished reports.
I leave it to unaffected pens immune to self-patting twists,
To write of this modest scribe's little turns and weird gists.
Oh how I saw a dreadful thing today!
You wretched thing, your grievous wretched act,
How dare you leave me for this piece of clay!
Unkindly you have broke our solemn pact
To never leave each other in our hold
Of affectations held by bonding brass;
But yet you left the nest to keep the cold
Away from us, and joined this piece of crass!
Oh how I wish to —Nein!*—Explain no more!
My eyes are clear enough, my heart is not.
The forge of your demise I have begun
To light, to force the blade of budding clot;
To reap what you have sown; the flames of hate
Of love, of sorrow and despair, inflate!
Note:
Nein- German for no
Goldie, my peculiar but beloved cat,
has certain affectations --
she prefers, most times, her own society
and shuns her housemates.
But, sometimes, she cuddles
or will join the others
to laze around -- in the living room,
the dining room, a hallway, or
in the kitchen.
An inside cat who, early on,
suffered the indignity of
"the operation,"
she asserts her independence
by darting into the front yard
when a door is opened --
and she pointedly ignores
any calls or pleas to come inside.
But when the door shuts
and no one is around, she is fearful,
immediately climbing up into the ash tree.
And there she stays
until I come to coax her down.
She may climb high up
and, finally, shakily manage
a descent to allow me to pick her up
and carry her back inside.
She never leaves the yard
but does enjoy ignoring me
when I am in a hurry.
She will dart about and run
from one side of the yard to the other.
For her, it's only an infrequent game.
And, as my treasured pet,
she certainly deserves to play
while testing the limit
of my affectionate, chagrined
commitment.
Anatomically speaking
I would rather not let you see my brain,
yet you can imagine it the same way I imagine yours.
Poetics abound, but let’s not fall into that mind trap,
comparisons in the dark will teach us more.
Pull up a chair, be beautiful, I’m not old
In your brain, you are not young in mine. We are
sea creatures floating just under the surface
of the oily film of our affectations;
there in that saline soup
our brains swim, meet and assimilate.
Thoughts grow feelers long enough to find
our furthest reaches, no matter how far awareness
submerges, surfaces, or emerges,
these sensors don’t end where the skin stops breathing.
Show me your feet, and I will show you my hands,
we will paint them with a naked green and blue dye,
then print out our dreams on the air between us.
What I wish to say is:
brains need this kind of image-making,
otherwise two luminous jellyfish such as we
will never find each other
in this deep dark ocean.
They collided
it was fate, destiny, it was rather awkward.
Brief introductions by a third party
led to instant dislike.
It was kismet. It was painful.
She disliked his manner,
he loathed her phony affectations.
From the very start
they kept miles apart.
Ten reincarnations later
it got no better.
Eventually a fickle fortune
placed then in a broken elevator
four hours alone together,
a centuries-old hostility
finally evaporated
hearts melted.
A spiritual attraction
revealed to them
that they had always been
soul-mates!
They got hitched in a hot-pepper fever
It was love at last-sight,
it was not right,
it was a fatal karma
soon they plotted
to murder each other.
One was killed dead,
the other went to bed
happier.
"The Emancipated"
See all the pretty words
perched on a tongue
like singing birds
Anagnorisis from
the Poetic Aristotle
effecting affectations
from the fangs
a cutting
100th monkey
Sting the truth
like a bee sipping nectar
kissing blooming minds
masked in soliloquay
lines of perdition
beckoning mushrooms
atomic fusion
drunken swallows
all sing in flattering discord
ribbons of melting harmony
red bolsheviks in their own time
tightly strung emancipating
crumbs of such simple
knowledge
found in golden maize of Rhyme
The Cherry Orchard
It is sold
In their final days
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
Difficult conversations
By Michelle Morris
23/11/2022
We often avoid
Difficult conversations
We convince ourselves
It's easier
To go with the flow
But, try as we might
Our bodies betray us
We subconsciously communicate
Through our movements
And our affectations
And if we don't honour
Our truth and our needs
We tend to get disease
That feeds off of our
Emotions
The triggering begins
And can spiral
Out of control
We need to get real
To be calm and feel whole
And time and space
Created with peace
Allows us the freedom
To have difficult conversations
With greater ease
The way to healing
Our bodies, minds and souls
Is in part dealing with
Everything in us
That is not a blessing to hold
When having those
Difficult conversations
Please take care of
Yourself and the feelings
Of your loved ones
We set an example
And a beautiful intention
When we treat others
With love and light
And compassion
© Michelle Morris, 2022
Touch, translucent, delicate, and sparse,
awareness fleeting and fragile
Treasure of treasures Lo and Mark,
seeker born quick and agile
Peripheral only, inward glancing,
laughter at clumsy gestures of life
a silhouette dancing around, and beyond,
the point of life’s sharpest knife.
I am a dalliance at your disposal,
significant only in ego’s arousal,
clinging to fringes as bee’s to aroma,
cracking like mud in the heat of the day.
Unyielding struggle to reach the return,
hasten the kiss of the flame without burn.
Feel, yet not touch - deliver, yet stay,
becoming both twilight and dawn of the day.
Bring me my head and deliver my heart,
cast not an ending from out which to start.
I have felt burst and bewilderment channeled,
danced ever close to the mist of the morn
I have been dazed in the blindness of passion
and from this I now have been born.
Endless longing, deepest ache,
glimpse of glory, crack of strife.
I, who have held the briefest story,
lay baffled and bleeding on the grounds of my life.
A place without struggle no silence or pain,
between birth of religion and thought before stain,
where feelings of affectations cry false,
and feelings of coarseness disdain,
where feelings priori shadowed and subtle
give birth to the lie egos feign.
There is no lie in the light that is life,
for the dark who without is true;
the meaning of struggle and search for rebirth
is the silence becoming you.
SUBJECTION
interpretation
of
remorse
with
sheer visual
power
described
fluently
evolution
exploded
fascination
subverting
the tradition
combines
the swiftness
with the
completeness of
the reminiscent
&
utterly aware
incidental
&
imaginary
idiom
developed
in
a powerful
line
abstracted
encouraged
to cope
out of sight
in
a
parallel
virtual
nowhere
suppressing
the acerbic
aspect
in a
gathering
of
affectations
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.