Long Attentiveness Poems
Long Attentiveness Poems. Below are the most popular long Attentiveness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Attentiveness poems by poem length and keyword.
Masculinity - My Animus
Though female, animus dwells deep in me
with strengths of leadership and business sense,
in being ruled by productivity
in ways that show command without pretense.
Assertiveness, decisiveness occurs
within the realm of varied business skills
where mathematics flair robustly stirs
accounting chores, like income taxes, bills.
Supportive instincts move within my soul,
the need to organize and plan with care.
Investment and financial smart control,
with honed computer skills, help me prepare.
A steady love of deep protective kind
that speaks commitment and strong loyalty,
focused attentiveness, resolve combined;
these are the traits of animus in me.
My animus serves well on business side.
My anima, artistic gifts provide.
Sandra M. Haight
~Honorable Mention~
Contest: Animus-Anima Part II--Animus
Sponsor: Tom Quigley
Judged: 06/26/2016
Walking becoming overcoming.
Orion becomes Jesus walking on water.
Trek trudge and stumble, taking it in stride.
Bearing a cross of torment and torture.
Struggling slogging shepherding,
slaving in blood mixed tears.
Walking through light and shadow.
Sleep meandering, dreams seamlessly
mingle with stumbling lumbering,
slumbering shamble, ambling ramble.
Roving roaming range, radius reached,
realms always remembered.
Walking the footpath through rainforest.
Sizzling amour fou ardor, fevered fervor.
Lascivious among the leaves,
captive to carnality.
Fleshly forbidden found only
in the taboo soil of impulses.
Walking in the aurora of first light.
Sprinting agape beneath spectral wavy prismatic sky.
Darting dashing driving toward a new day.
Racing rushing for radiant rays wrapping the horizon.
Igniting the dark, blazing the trail in a neonate morning,
advancing the awaiting adventure.
Walking with friends and lovers.
Parading promenading propelled plantigrade.
Globetrotting every continent, every consideration,
every awareness and attentiveness.
The common blanket sweeping overall.
Let the celebration of being begin.
It was raining when I woke up early this morning and it’s expected to rain all day. The temperature outside is in the low fifties; cold and gloomy and perfectly in line with how I’m feeling. Sadness, disappointment and a growing sense of imperfection is gnawing inside reminding me that no matter how much I strive to improve both my writing endeavors and ability to reach out and connect with others, (including strangers and those I love) I keep missing the mark by countless miles. Despite all the “Self Help” books on how to become more successful, more efficient with one’s time and more in tune with finding and connecting with our “Inner being and best true self,” at the end of the day, only we can ultimately help ourselves. Or can we?
Sometimes I find that the only way to overcome my own faults and fears is to simultaneously face them and muddle through them, regardless of the amount of trouble, time and tears. I just keep telling myself, “Hang on, there’s always next year.” And so, I, the proverbial and eternal optimist continue to keep doing what I’m doing knowing full well that no matter how much I do, say, or give to others, it’s never enough and never will be because dissatisfaction, restlessness and longing for more desires including people, places, knowledge, ideas, creativity and all other urges that lurk inside will never allow us (or, at least not me) to rest easily and peacefully as I please.
So, I ask you to please forgive me. Forgive my lack of attentiveness to your creativity, your love and your needs. Forgive me for not being there for all your failures, triumphs and near misses towards your higher realms, whatever you may imagine them to be. Forgive me for not praising and raising you to the level you deserve. I am only one man. I’m only one soul on the journey of a lifetime trying to live each moment the very best way I know how while stumbling, bumbling, fumbling humbly along the way. I can only hope and pray that you, dear reader, may understand these thoughts as I sit here and watch the rain until it stops.
© Terrell Martin, 02/23/2025
~ The Tzaddik ~
A 'Tzaddik,' normally translated as a 'Righteous Man,'
is so much more than that. I think of a 'Tzaddik' as a
selfless holy man, who exists only for others. If you've
ever met one, you'll recognize him in the poem below...
You can’t put your finger on it
or think of its synonym
Yet the instant he spots you
there’s something special about him
It’s in his smile that greets you
his attentiveness when you speak
He exists only for you, for your deepest needs
though you may be unassertive and weak
He introduces others to you with a shine on his face
that he transfers to you with effortless grace
You will never forget him, nor he you
for you’ve just met a tzaddik, whose love has touched you
Charismatic Zoe consistently bears tendancy
of softening strangers into friends
Perhaps resulting from her relocating frequency
Her familiarity with 'all sorts' hones empathy
Inspires trust, apprehension suspends
Fresh town primed to garner aquaintence
In the year charming Zoe turns thirty eight
Uninhibited, curious, built by self reliance
Folks cheerfully offer firm alliance
Her attentiveness ensures it remains
Zoe values conversation vivid vivacious
Exuding nonchalance, ability to laugh at her folly
Fabulous new friendships steadily progress
Synchronisity cements compadre success
Several new girlfriends all in their forties!
Shrinking space separates her from next decade
Stubborn Zoe pictures dowdy entirely optional
Zone of forty hopefully could be allayed
Reality shattered, coming years delayed
Ignorance imagines aging not applicable
She perceives it holds hands with abating energy
Admires dignity older friends can achieve
Surely high spirits dissolve eventually?
Settled staid of middle aged brings lethargy
Lustre of gusto a gown youth beseech
Witty Zoe's process barely outstanding
Timidly turning formidable forty - - - -
Truth had evaded fathomed planning
Age expectations are pure semantics!
Trajectory questions finally sorted
Embracing increasing, relaxed stance decided
Zoe dresses in fearless effervescent
Category defiant, her latitude desirable
Zeal's spirit reveals pleasant surprises
Takes unashamedly from unfolding present
Written for : Time Poem Contest
Sponsored by : Chantelle Anne Cooke
Originated : 9th June 2020
Noble and wise watchers they be
‘Homage resounds in that Melodious Crawing that their salute too the great all and Everything begins too Herald.
upward
‘and downwards
‘with purpose and respect ,
Ancient remembrance’s of always dancing this new day’s magic’s too be .
A Broyvy of Avian lore that resounds eternal amongst ‘and through the mightiest of the peacefully standing giants there is .
Renard lays still in that golden dewed meadow ,
feeling the warmth of the new mornings star ‘his powers of invisibility also now at rest .
gentlefolk from the forests deep and peering out from secret hiding’s ‘respectfully listen with attentiveness in all that is being sung .
This murder is majestic in its sounds ‘and Mysterious in its wondrous morning Call .
Abased* from arrogance-assertiveness
apathetic affections of mine actually
accept Almighty’s admonitions
against afflictions of adversaries
as I acknowledge His assurance
affirming His steadfast authority
and approving attentiveness...
appreciating faith-awakening
aware that my existence along
allusions, allegories, and analogies
are anchored upon His truth advancing
awareness of His presence of eternal adventure!
*Matthew 23:12 And whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased; and he that shall humble himself shall be exalted.
June 1, 2019
Edited on August 1, 2022
Contest Name: Non-dual awareness
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
When I chose to be a witch, I gave up true love
I love to be alone, 'cause eventually people really bug
There is too many mind-games & selfishness in humanity
Thanks, but no thanks - I wanna keep my sanity
Everyone's always in it in the end for just themselves
There are way too many far too gone - they can't be helped
I believe that those that do not bring to the table - don't play
And when the times get rough - they never do stay
When bickering begins, there's much too much of each other
(I'm sure you wish you were doing another)
Like she once told me - when the cat is given - they change
But once you catch on - they then become enraged
If it's not their way, it's no way at all
(Says the motherfvcker, too afraid to fall)
Love is oh so temporary - and only convenient for the moment
If it's gonna be forever in your eyes - then fvcking show it
Compromise, show attentiveness - do little things
'Cause everyone knows what a healthy companionship brings
Quit going into something new - thinking they're like your ex
Why not give everyone new a chance - then see what's next?
Rain falls on my back, small drops sliding into my eyes,
you hold my hand gently, “Does this feel okay?”
The tiny button on your shirt quivers under my touch,
grains of sand on the little stones beneath our feet slip in water.
You turn your head, shy, but your eyes speak more than words,
checking every movement, every breath I take.
The scent of wet earth mingles with smoke from wood in the yard,
you position yourself to protect me, without saying a thing.
I feel warmth in your arms, in each brief embrace,
yet the cold rain makes my heart beat faster still.
You ask the same questions again, softly,
“Is this comfortable for you?”
You don’t rush, you don’t force—
you guide me in every subtle motion, every small detail I had missed.
When I leave, your eyes still follow me,
a final touch, a little smile hidden in the shadows of rain.
Reflection
I chose this moment because it was the first time I opened my heart to another person, filled with a mix of excitement, shyness, and a little fear. The hardest line to write was “Does this feel okay?” because it is simple, yet carries all the weight of care and attentiveness, defining the tone of the interaction. In the first draft, I included the danger of bandits in the area, but I removed it to focus entirely on intimacy and gestures. I did not over-polish the reflection, allowing the process itself—the observing, feeling, and unspoken gestures—to remain raw and authentic. These subtle details are what give the poem its strength and sincerity, making the memory vivid and tangible.
The African night goes robust with
silence and attentiveness.
Darkness, grave, deep and merciless,
hisses remorselessly but soundlessly.
The moon is on a visit to her grandmother
Fireflies on bulrushes give blinking light, like exhausted
Twinkling stars expelled from heaven.
Post-suppertime, belching stomachs recline on
Whims of a slow-travelling night with faithful
Silhouettes walking ahead of stalking shadows.
Orchestral insects keep the night company
Folktales steal into this power of darkness —
A breathing nocturnal art with the pulse of
Communal growth . . .
The town crier is abroad
He needs no other identity but his voice,
A foghorn in the entrenched darkness.
Next is his wooden gong,
An instrument of life.
His voice rides smoothly through the night —
At times with punch, some other times
With the sound of glory . . .
And when there’s gloom,
With the sonorous flow of woe.