Long Authentic Poems
Long Authentic Poems. Below are the most popular long Authentic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Authentic poems by poem length and keyword.
If materialistic things were the only ones they sought,
they would be satisfied with them, and discard those of little worth;
and like anxious gold diggers they would trample on rocks and dig very deep:
to unearth their glittering treasure and be so exultant and very proud
of bragging about it with a vanity only appeased by mirth!
And will others pity them or follow them in their greed?
If believers are shielded by faith,
they don't need to watch over their worthless treasures
and always be afraid of thieves who may steel them;
and that's all they desire to have:
envy the invariable notion of their intention,
not being fickle, but relying on one's intuition
to preserve that candid faith...like their forefathers
who received it from the God who never failed them!
They'll mock them and curse them for their integrity, and as lepers
they'll cast them into the cadaverous abyss of living darkness...
calling them mad preachers of false ideals, taking on His divine image!
And are they the delirious prophets or impostors who yearn for fame?
But how will they respond to those cruel accusations or death threats:
by swaying their angry swords to wage war or surprisingly choose silence?
O disgraceful people, assuming of being just and fair...
haven't you noticed how truth menaces your strategy
to get rid of the righteous ones who do not fear animosity?
O implacable people, admit you inability to cope...
to remove these opponents from your torment, dare
to heed those prophecies that are as authentic
as the true words they speak...when they are shielded by faith!
And if they were pretenders, why would they endure trail and death?
Copyright 2008 by Andrew Crisci
Inside-Out with all the psycho-babble.
Multifaceted melange - merry and melancholy.
My pen’s prophetic,
authentic,
inadequate.
Hazel eyes that ponder divinity:
See the world.
See God through the world.
See the people.
Empathize with earthly beings.
Fall to my knees.
Seek inspiration.
Grab it with gusto.
Don’t wait for the brain to catch up.
I observe the peculiarities in my familiar space.
I often hide behind the blinds.
Occasions, work, and friends -
push me out into the serendipitous sun and clouds.
Clench books on dusty shelves.
Throw them into a shopping cart -
they’re all free.
Attempt to organize floaters -
those iotas, that crystallize,
to form a complete thought.
Exhaustive concordance of my travels -
violets, forget-me-knots, tulips,
and fear and sorrow
The viscous web of grandiose heights -
zip lines, edge of mountains, glacier treks.
Falling...falling back on my knees.
Confident? Conceited?
A poet - that’s me.
And ideas materialize -
with family and strangers,
life and death.
The affectation of emotion, pondered.
Like a journalist, I report roller-coaster happenings.
You see, I used to merely have an emotion,
get comfortable in its chair.
Now I play with it,
craft my joy or despair.
The mirror cracks -
my reflection
as I grow wizened,
with a chromatic symphony
of mystique.
Vincent The Stray
Mind soldiers march on but who is the private not yet
promoted from privation to privacy from battle to peace
Vincent feline and feral with one ear gone hungry and
tattered ripped to shreds fed from our bowls growling
scared and scarred for what little of life had remained
One morning he floated and bloated he remained on the
surface of the swimming pool as an authentic reminder
of impermanence suicide without doubt but was it him
or Van Gogh who copied and pasted in the year of the cat
Drowned pirate freebooter cut throat privateer or maybe
liberated sovereign unimpeded marauder questing the
crests surfing where crowd became solitude’s dereliction
Other cats follow us round and posit the question of
who is master and mistress who owns whom for how
long whose copy is mocked and impersonates mime
Struggles are plenty so many questions alit and abound
blazing individual communion patching eyes ears senses
delusions illusion of distinguished misery and fabulous
mystery and possibly Vincent the cat and the painter
Sadly and wisely comprehended sophisticated responses
and answers to the meaning of living together and alone
when to follow congregation or when requirements vanish
05th December 2016
Without sadness in our eyes
By Michelle Morris
26/01/2023
I tried to smile
But it did not reach my eyes
I felt uncomfortable
Deluding myself with lies
Surrounded by no one
Only glimpses of the world
Trying to hide away from humans
Trying to avoid a fall
Never true support
When I need a soft place to fall
All these messages out there
That are so artificial
Everywhere I look
There's this superficial veneer
People trying to hide
Their authentic selves and fears
Always feeling lonely
Even in a crowd
They are ever louder
Trying to drown out their minds
I am forever grateful
That I am fine alone
I sometimes wish though
For a one to call my own
Life is a mystery
And we each have a path
We have to pass our tests
As individual souls
But our souls are linked
Together in the Universe
We have to work together
To walk each other home
Maybe there are others
Many more like me
That feel too deeply
And see what truth reveals
But when we face the darkness
And forget our hearts
We can't accomplish goodness
As much as our intended start
Look into the mirror
Look into your soul
Time to stop pretending
That we're really whole
Maybe if we smiled
And it reached our souls
We can start to heal
Without sadness in our eyes
© Michelle Morris, 2023
"Angel Wings, Amusement Park Mouth"
Dark horses
aren’t necessarily angels
wrung out poets more like
unblessed prodigals
soaking in their own tears
spin sugared fairy-floss unrelentingly out
their dark sap, "Lost Woods" words,
and the ink no longer necessary
bleeds invisible
from their tap-dancing fingers
instead of dripping like blood
or honey off their
well-armoured tongues
and their messages
like murders of crows
fly out of their amusement park
mind instead of their mouth;
it's a private affair,
nobody really knows;
we sing our way home
on some bent kind of angel wings;
Dark horses
aren't necessarily angels -
the mind, authentic
is another thing...
Candide Diderot. ‘24
The Irish band was playing on a Vermont Green
People brought their outdoor chairs, it was a charming scene
I got carried away, tried to sing along
But from the looks on the faces, I'd done them all wrong
The band hit a dissonant note, people gave me a frown
I had outworn my welcome in this quaint New England town
I just wanted to be musical, and share my inner beat
But I saw it was wiser to beat a fast retreat
(Chorus)
Oh, I just wanted to share my song,
But every note I sang came out wrong.
I had a need to express my soul,
But negative feedback takes its toll
Tried serenading a seagull by the ocean beach,
He dropped his shell and let out a wild screech.
Even the whales dove deep to flee my tune,
Neighborhood dogs started howling at the moon
I sang in front of my mirror, like a wounded cow
The landlord came by, said you're evicted starting now
I took my bags, went to Montana to sing
I had to express my muse, to do my own thing.
I let the notes float in the big sky air,
All of a sudden I was charged by a grizzly bear
It was enough to make me want to weep
Then from the other side, charged a bighorn sheep
I climbed a tree, and the two animals left me alone
It was nature in the raw, I filmed it with my phone
Put it on YouTube, got ten million views
And for the musical score, I sang the blues.
(chorus)
So whatever your passion, go share your song,
Even my misadventures didn't go wrong.
As a YouTube influencer, my star has shone,
By persisting among skeptics, I've found where I belong.
Now I join a choir of frogs down by the creek,
And with my first croak, they also want to speak.
I made another nature movie, set to southern soul
Got the Nature Film medal, Now I'm on a roll.
Won the Sundance most authentic soundtrack in a poll.
(instrumental)
By Mark D. Stucky
Computer AI,
what once was only sci-fi,
is now arising.
You might kill us all,
AI, but write good essays
for my college class?
Wish intelligence
was less artificial and
more real in our world.
No machine needed
for creating recklessness.
Already have lots.
Not nearly enough
authentic intelligence
is found within us.
Let’s search for wisdom
for our souls that’s actual,
not unnatural!
(See also my AI poems "AI Awakening" and “Algorithm Almighty?”)
(Image from anonymous artist on pixabay.com/illustrations/man-face-surreal-imagination-845847/.)
Here I stand on life's stage
About to give the performance of a lifetime
Not worried about reactions
Do not care about my feelings
Just here to show the most authentic self i can give
I grew up bullied I grew up deprived
My personal demons has cause my relationships demise
I get up each day not sure why
Alone in this bed no one to hold
Ashamed of my weaknesses I have many
Scared of what you all may think
I have pretended to love
Imagined being happy
But reality always kicks my teeth in
I am not the cutest by far
I am not the most enlightened one
I am so afaird of women it chills me to the bone
Intimacy is considered obsolete
Like my age I am not no young gun any more
I am a product of the past can't even be recycled
I long for support I wish I knew what true love was
Once I was there I thought so long ago but got scared and chased her away
In those dark times I was not brave
But today is new and this the crowning achievement
What you see is what you get all broken by two
One half devil one half angel
I won't knock you down no more
I won't curse your name
I will look at the reflection and see so much good change
I will understand me I will stumble forward though these ups and downs
For me this is the day where I say I forgive you
I will move forward with my lines unrehearsed because that is how it should be
I will take these demons and rise above
Encourage my self each day and repeat I deserved to be loved
For this For me and believe in this figure of a man hidden behind a curtain no more and i guarantee there will be no dry eye in the house. When I step.out of this self misery to shine as bright as anyone reading this poem can.
The stage is set Ladies and gentlemen I give you me.
GOING….GOING….SADLY…..GONE
HEY…..WHADDAMIBIDFOR…..this….this ….
WHATEVERITISOLDERTHANMEANTIQUEYTHING.
C’MON NOW LET’S START THE BIDDING…..
WHAT IS THIS BEAUTY WORTH???
5 DOLLAHS…..WHO’LL GIVE ME 5 DOLLAHS???
COM’N NOW IT HAS ORIGINAL BURN HOLES
FROM A TIME WHEN PEOPLE ACTUALLY SMOKED----INDOORS!!!
AUTHENTIC ANTIQUE BURN HOLES
YA CAN’T BUY THAT RUSTIC LOOK…
I GOT 10 DOLLAHS OVAHERE……WHO’LL MAKE IT 15
15….COM’N…..15…….THIS GROOVE ALONG THE EDGE….
WORN BY THE WINDUPDANCINGBELLSOF THE ALARMCLOCK….
BOUGHT THE ALARM CLOCK AFTER THEY SHOT THE ROOSTER….
SOLD THE FARM WHEN THE HENS STOPPED LAYIN’…
CAN I GET 20……20…..UP IT FIVE TO PONDER THE
PENDULUM ARC ON THE MIRROR…..ETCHED
BY THE POCKET WATCH HUNG THERE…… EVERY NIGHT…
BUT ONE.
I GOT 30….30 FROM THE GENTLEMAN IN THE REAR.
CAN I GET 40….A SMALL PRICE TO PAY……SEE THAT HOLE…
CENTERLEFTOFNAMEPLATE….BULLETHOLE….REVENUERS…
C’MON….LET ME GET 50…..50…..HALF A HUNDRED….50
AND WE’LL THROW IN THE MAP TO THE STILL….
GOING ONCE…….GOING TWICE…….
John G. Lawless
2/29/2016
Hi there, the lady in chartreuse green
I'm on display, a performance to be seen
Glaring eyes and a sculpted body
A handsome charm my features embody
If blood flows in me, I'm the man of your dream
Second only to the sculptor who created me.
My name is David, a favored Biblical hero
Created by the young, artistic Michelangelo
A masterpiece of ancient Renaissance
Standing naked in the aura of splendid ambiance
Exhibiting strength, art, and romance
Bearing each advance and timid glance.
Ladies and gentlemen please keep moving
In the public square there is another me
Though I am the authentic, the original
The copy, a replica, looks almost identical.
The lady in green let me tell you something
You look beautiful, quite smashing indeed!
I'll hold a private showing just before closing
The guards can't see us when I flip the switch
We'll have just enough time to steal a kiss.
August 4, 2017
Artwork--sponsored by Lewis Raynes