Long Baffles Poems
Long Baffles Poems. Below are the most popular long Baffles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Baffles poems by poem length and keyword.
Do you sometimes wonder
how to introduce what is out there to your soul and mind?
how to understand that which exists, in that period of time?
and in that present moment is real, and do you feel guilty if you leave it all behind?
Have you heard that your ego will prevent you
from being who you were meant to be?
And you get absorbed in society’s creations
but you find yourself confused, and unable to see.
And you might search the news
looking for those reads that will reaffirm what’s on your mind.
And you “stumble upon” absurd conspiracy theories
which you “miraculously” find.
Can you somehow see a reflection of who you are?
Or is the mirror broken, left far behind?
Can you ask yourself, honestly, sincerely, what the solution is for human kind?
Or do you get lost within the scope of your very own personal mind?
And as you sit there
do you blame others while looking for a system that creates the hurt?
Deep down you know the answer
it’s selfishness, hatred, power, and greed, which continue to subvert.
What is real and what is fake?
I often wonder what is true.
Yes I listen and I analyze
I use up a portion of my time to see it from a particular point of view.
For now I want to spend my time
searching within my soul for something that I’m unable in this world to find
which baffles me some of the time
because occasionally it’s born and exists deep within my very own mind.
I’m just a being, living and trying to be that which I foresee
searching for the spiritual in that which is before me
at times attempting to find meaning in mortality
with a burning desire to understand and see.
It is contentment which I pursue
Even look inside the cracks
But at times like these contentment hides
and the road ahead confuses me, so I retrace, as I retract.
Maybe I got it all wrong
Maybe some of it is right
Maybe my vision is blurry and foggy
Maybe at times I have trouble seeing the light.
I can take what is happening out there
interpret using knowledge, a view, and perhaps a belief
but often the truth is just not there, and the news really stinks as it permeates
and the nature of the many, rarely offer one relief.
And I’m left with the choice to accept, dissolve, or set it all aside
using my soul and my very own mind.
And after attempting to understand
I ultimately, usually, leave it all behind.
Form:
The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation
The Not-So Distant Past:
The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.
They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.
Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,
and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.
The Present:
19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,
a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.
I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,
our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.
Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,
babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,
yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,
needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,
for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.
Form:
Gentle light flows through the pines,
Inviting the oaks, the laurels, to sigh,
Echoing soft breath, smoke rising –
Mist in the sky, a moment of silence
Breaks the song, playing on the crisp morn’
This is summer’s sadness, when August
Shadows the heat, the sweltering thoughts
Erasing July quicker than sunlight erases
The dew from tender petals who remember
Only the beginnings of dawn’s presence
Soon, Autumn will write its lyrics in dancing
Leaves, vibrant promises of scarlet and gold,
Enchanting the dreams with laughing hues,
Music playing quietly on the still, cool morning
When a heart reaches through the misty air
This is the best recollection of the autumnal
Wings, airborne, soaring gracefully over the
Trembling skies – into the endless veils, vapors
Still, ashen clouds, mysteries in the heavens,
Inspiring poetry from those who write visions…
Warmest wishes, feelings like leaves faded
Beneath the strongest branches, oaks and birch,
Inspirations beguiling the moon to heed the stars,
Blow away the doubts from the storms, rains falling
Melodiously, stirring the embers of a heart, a soul
August noon awaits the temptations so soon removed,
Washed away by the fond webs, the drying memories,
In tones of ashen amber, soothing auburn, reflections
Breathing out psalms along the mountain ridges,
Repeating the trembling hopes, the dreams of a spirit
Eminent woes, memories peeled away in layers –
Intimate and healing, reassuring that fall will be what it will be,
Always alive with reflections, embraces, traces of hope,
Heartfelt desires and wondering affections kissing the truth,
Abiding inside those who know this is God’s unfinished painting –
This is the treasure of summer poured out in wistful
Memories and promises, prayers for the seasonal grace,
The inspirational – the thanks, given to the One who
Captured light and poured it across the earth in one enchanting
Explosion of amazing, marvelous, stunning – even the greatest poet
Can’t write a wonder like that –
His hand, His sculpture, His creation… baffles even the most confident artiste
With God, there is no impossibility and no reason for upset
With Him, not only autumn, not just august, but the entire heart
– the whole life, the entire soul – is blessed!
Ever wonder why people have a hard time discussing what is truly on their minds? Well, we could speculate and assume that they are assholes or self centered or that they don't put time in when you may feel like you do...being in the darkness for any human is hard to understand especially when not knowing the circumstances behind their behavior. Yet, what baffles me the most is that you can be completely honest about how you're feeling..yet no one is actually listening. This last decade of my life has been nothing but healing from complex ptsd, depression, anxiety, fear/panic disorder. Living with such mental illnesses are time consuming and mind consuming to the point you loose hours to days. I try every day and I will Never give up because that is who I am even after everything I have been through in my life. I can be proud that I have made it through 100% of my bad days. And on those days I wouldn't think I could make it through but I did. Not everyone can say that..I've lost friends and family to suicide. Hell I've been down that road, that stuck. The feelings of not being good enough, not deserving to be loved or even cared about. That feeling in the lowest point of my life trying to understand why I even deserved a so called life. I shut down my world and put a fortress up around me and only allowed 1 or 2 people in my life. When I had that knife at my lowest at my wrists afraid...not afraid of dying but afraid of living...I stumbled across a video that literally saved me. Called please don't kill yourself by spoken words. I cried through that entire video. And somehow found peace in that and put that knife down. I haven't picked a knife back up and still watch that video. I still struggle everyday it doesn't just go away..but it is possible to live with it and overcome it. I'm living proof of that.
Now I'm not telling my story for fame or credit...my only hope is that through my story someone may see this and know death is not the way out. That maybe just maybe someone might take this story and it sit on their heart and know they are not alone..and if that helps save another life that is the only thing I hope for.
You are loved, cared for and adored. Don't give up please.
THE WAILING CRY OF MAMA AFRICA.
Who shall I tell this story
Who will heal this injured glory
We were like Jack and Jim
We climbed the hills together
Like a cock poured hot water
My comb is fallen with no feathers
To beautify my skin
The pride of my womb lies desolate
Who will suck this firm breast up before they become fallen
Cried out Mama Africa
The portage of hot yam have been served
My children are eating with bare hands
Stained by their red bloody thick pourage
What baffles me is how hungry they are
But still eat with heated hated courage
Cried mother Africa
As she watched down from the Futajjan
Asante Asante Asante
With his golden stool he accended
As mama Africa enchanted
The fire wood is ready for fire he seated
My son the woods have been used for cooking while you were asleep
As Mama Africa hissed
There comes my son Odudua
With his brother Eri looking angry
The water in the coconut have excaped
It was never sapped
Woo-hoo woo-hoo woo-hoo cried mother Africa
Who chased the spiders and break the webs
Now they travel on their own in peace and shame
Mama Africa cried out
Anansi where is your trick your brothers children have faced a puzzle they can't solve
Chiwara she called the beauty in thy horn now
Have become thorns on thy head
Mawu-Lisa the twins, where lies the beauty of your marriage
Kwakwau kwakwau kwakwau Mama Africa cried with all her children lost in thought
The Obodom drum beat can no longer withhold my tears
Abbassi and Attai whispered as she cried
Chineke moved out in confusion
As Arusi quickly brought his snuff box
Even my evil heart can not bear this shame Adrao murmured
Damballa my son you failed to govern my children's will
You allowed my children forget the road and work the hill she queried
Roog,Mwari reject the sacrifices your brothers are at war Mama Africa cautioned
Chuita tell Obatala that his handicapped children need healings
who will dry my tears shouted mama Africa
As she wailed aloud.
As all her children gathered around the fire
Tired and retired they all joined their mother to wail
As they watched from Futajallon so they took of their crown.
somewhere out there
a basset hound lives in the same house as a
macaw.
the gorgeous tropical bird,
bearing its staggeringly spectacular array of
intensely prepossessing &
polychromasiac
hues,
dominant in the household as an exotic
spectacle
whose mere presence in a non-tropical environment
pulls in the curious onlooker.
it stands upon its little
perch,
staring down at the hound---
the perpetually sad looking,
perfect model of evolution
(wherein the imperfections of natural selection can be seen in its
extremely long ears that touch the ground, its stubby legs that are far too
short for its body, etc.---one can make the argument that the poor basset hound
has not been fortunate to lose such ridiculous traits as of yet),
stands almost teary eyed
with its neck bent at an angle,
looking straight up in the direction of the macaw
its feeble attempt is noticed by the majestic bird.
cawing down at the hound,
the bird baffles---
the hound,
whose name is derived from the french adjective for
“rather low,”
ponders the bird’s exchange,
wondering if it is ridiculing &
taunting it for being such a sort of, um,
mistake---
it spends little time deciding &
barks back at the bird in its bellowing manner.
in the already unnatural cage the human owners of these two
creatures,
a new animal kingdom of two has arisen---
the hounds knows not what to make of this bright colored bird &
the bird,
rather unaffected by the odd character
way
down
there
below,
seems to enjoy the pandering back & forth,
as if in a conversation
where the both of them are understanding mutually the exchange that is
occurring.
and while the insanity of the macaw & the hound persists
(the hound bellowing & the macaw trying to mimic the bellow in an
effort to see how the hound’s day is going),
these two animals come to a consensus
that together in such a situation
they are both equally out of their element &
a new bond is formed,
an allegiance, if you will,
wherein psittacidae & canidae
have found common ground---
resist these humans at all costs.
An excruciating Sunset gradually plunged behind my frail head
Dazzling glooms of muscular flames surrounding corners of my bed
With gleaming ominous vessels burdened by wonders of the dead
Enriched with overflowing water that curses the entire glory night
Blinding over the house spectacle & baffling it from the divine light
With souls buried with depraved crops administering a spiritual fright
Yet covered with overwhelming windows that blaze & baffles so bright
As the sun lights up, my body felt colossal pains & sizzling stitches
While native doctors cleansed the house from specters & witches
Ghost whispers cleansed the enclosure & discovered a vital purse
As I snatched the purse; marvels of evil specters conveyed a curse
Overwhelming revelations brushed my eyebrows & darkness prevail
Then packed all my belongings and now live to instruct & tell the tale
I've dwelled on the devil’s haunted throne, & my eyes have seen my ears
A diligence course has been haunting my soul for days, months, & years
Maybe the haunting started at conception or the day I was blithely born
It appears that I’m brain dead; my soul, real name, life, joy, & love is gone
All the events that happened; and my baptism name doesn't feel like me
Sometimes I question my faith, bow my dim head, or kneel on one knee
Asking the lord almighty questions about my demise, & where ill surely be
A yawning frosty gloom sheltered the space, while angry specter swarm
Vocalizing a solitary voice; shafting my thoughts with a twisting storm’
An indistinguishable earthquake twisted the hasty wits of my crony’s pet
while it rattles it’s diffused head ;& specters slit the collar of my white shirt
I’ll never forget that mind smashing instant ,when the dim curse emerged
As the skirmishing holy ghost bash ,& the evil swarm of specters surged
Ooh my fellow soldiers; learn to put god first in anything you do or think
Because he’ll pave your lost soul to him; and the devils evil demise will sink
Who am I is a question,
That baffles and confuses me.
Aren’t I a stranger to myself,
When in me angels and demons cohabit,
Dwelling side by side.
Sometimes I am mired in confusion.
Sometimes I feel I am a moth caught fast in the fire,
And about to be burnt, when drawn to light
Mindless of the great peril looming.
Sometimes I feel I am sidelined and ignored,
And left out from the mainstream of life,
Like a book stacked away on a rusty shelf
In a dark corner, never touched or dusted.
After a wave of rising energy
I fall into a state when I feel so inert and dull.
At times, feel that I am a lifeboat without oars.
But soon I alight on the lighthouse of joy.
As the cycle of seasons keeps changing
The pendulum of my life swings from joy to sorrow
And hope and despair are threaded,
Into the tapestry of life as warp and woof
Essentially kind and compassionate,
I am moved to tears whenever I see,
An instance of human suffering
And tears of joy well my eyes
When I witness human excellence and pride over it.
Time has mellowed me, and wisdom has taught me,
To see the inner light shining in me.
Even when dark clouds creep into my night sky
Beneath the façade of my aching torso,
I see a soul eternal and indestructible.
At best, I like to think that I am a child of God,
And I strive to be led by that inner light.
Even when I swim in the doldrum of life,
I pray to release the infinitesimal quantum of energy,
That keeps the fire in me ever-blazing,
To add my lustre even to the stars.
To love and be loved is my credo,
For “even if I speak
in the language of angels and have no love
I am only a noisy, empty gong”.
There is a spark of heavenly fire in each one of us
Though it may lie dormant in broad daylight
It kindles up, beams, and blazes
In the dark hours of adversity.
So, frolic in the Living water and dance on the cliff
An edifice constructed through years of hard labor
May be destroyed overnight but keep building anyway!
“That dream only needs a speech to bring about the change the world has been waiting for,
never be speechless no matter what; you have something to say...”
Felix Joseph.o
SPEECHLESS!
A feeling contends to conquer me
Perhaps, I wanting to defeat it
Indeed, my irritability of the obvious
My contest to make it plain, baffles me
My best try,
Fry me to cry
Helpless my mouth
It cries echoes is speechless
When truth mutates to odium
Falsehood applauded as in a stadium
Avalanche of wrongs
Beaten into a compendium
Corruption celebrated in ovation
Justice, yet foreign in a nation
In reckless abandon,
The games rule is impunity
Flaunting absurd rights as immunity
Shame like a name
Honored as fame
Speaking the more
They have colonized the peak
Your audio, print and visual ranting
Concludes you an ant
A pens ink, as tears
Their brick hearts, quickly ignores
What then unlocks their hearts mystery?
Power emitting from the army’s canon?
Perhaps, the pens might
May cause a rethink
Yes a reflection amidst the stink
Confronts all loudly
Speechless is the act of the feel
Yet, still I dare to make a speech
A speech for my compatriots
A speech desiring a change
Yes! A speech to propel the speechless
Am speechless, yet not lacking in speech
Speechless is all it makes me feel
A speech can break the chains
Being speechless is not a gain
It germinates pain, like rain
Speak and rule the peak
Roar to unseat the freak
Shout and alarm the weak
Sing a tune, their hearts will break
Cry, your tears may cajole compassion
Yes! A speech ushers the change
The villains abhor a change
Truly, a speech moulds them speechless
A speech a world desire
Lacking in speak, all backfire
yet a speech will save the day?
Why speechless?
Just a speech of change will unveil the dream
yes! A dream for real change.
Author: Felix Joseph Osaeghemede
Chumfin4poem@yahoo.com ;+2348037825027.
Written:1-05pm-1-25pm: 10th-06-2008.
Form:
I laid my head down, upon blanket of cotton weave.
Maybe soft like the one Jesus was wrapped, in a swaddling sleeve.
It was at last Christmas tomorrow, an this was the eve.
But in Santa I no longer now have reason to believe.
Oh what is Christmas to all now days
We still today give our Lord praise. (chorus)
The wise men were swirling in my thoughts tonight
Thoughts of Jesus once cradled in his mothers arms so tight.
The spirt of the night glistened in the candles twinkling light
I searched among my memories of better days with all my might.
Oh what is Christmas to all now days
Many not all still love our lord in so many many ways (chorus)
But all I could think of was the expense it brought to familes.
Credit cards extended to limits, depts, homeless with chilling extremeties.
I wonder what Jesus might say as this once was his birthday.
If he were here might he gather his deciples for yet to again pray.
Oh what is Christmas to all now days
Friends of families all come and go some astray (chorus)
Why does misfortune affect so many with extreme debt?
Depression claims have of this God fearing world from finance fret
I try to understand as I am an adult now you see
But this world it stll so much baffles me.
Oh what is Christmas to all now days
Bills and credit cards of all who get a pay (chorus)
If we were really celebrating his birth, are we if his worth,
To bemore appreciative of his fathers creations......one is earth.
God could have given us any thing at all
But he chose a gift more meaningfull, his own son to fall.
Oh what is Christmas to all now days
The joy of love and Christ's brotherhood some say (chorus)
He gives his love, his almight power.
He lifts us up in the final hour.
Oh what is Christmas to all now days
Candles lit for the as Christmas approaches day by day. (chorus)
Linda Terrell
November 23, 2009