Long Balance Poems
Long Balance Poems. Below are the most popular long Balance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Balance poems by poem length and keyword.
Two parties with a fifty-fifty chance
Of getting the longer half, but in this game
Of sheer luck, one gets the wish fulfillment
One literally comes up short
When the wishbone splits in two
How sad to end up with the shorter half?
Close, but no cigar. An unlucky break
Then lady luck smiles and disappears
In a split second. Isn't it tantamount to a scale
Tipping the balance to the wrong end?
At one fell swoop, one who holds
The shorter half is out of favor, a gambler
With a snake eyes dice. A wish so
Tantalizingly close, hynotized
Into deep sleep
But there's a technique to improving
The odds of ending up with the longer half
You simply pull instead of attempt to break it off
Glory could be yours, If you grab the upper part
Of the wishbone, instead of the tail-end
Date written and posted: 11/02/2018
Narrow Margin 2-12-24 This or That Vol. 23 Poetry Contest - Edward Ibeh
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Narrow Margin
Between finite and eternity
A thin sharp wire divides,
Footsteps that often stumble,
Arms flailing,
Grasp for balance in pockets of sparse air
Staggering in storms, battered by choice,
Between the lines of saint and sinner,
Wild things or all the power of forgiveness,
Time challenged and eternal.
Between dances lightly on the razor’s maxims
In teetering seconds born in “or”
The narrow space between mayhem and peace
Superstition and shoulders of faith
Waking in the whisper between ebony shadows
And resplendent shouts of advent -
Margins between ambivalence’ bruised flesh
Or wide balms of equilibrium
Between fragile borders of mortality and spirit.
In space, universal static sings its
icy songs to celestial bodies;
their romance helps to keep the balance;
life’s turning…turning…
In finite depths of black holes,
are secrets that earth life can only imagine.
When souls in night-flight,
take their tours; genius is born.
The classrooms of infinity,
stock atomic memory with volumes;
a cosmic library.
Genious, like prophecy, is never recognized or
validated in its own time.
Einstein’s mind, spanned eons of knowledge
on its journeys; a mind of depths unfathomed by many.
Tesla’s receptivity reached into infinity’s abyss
and witnessed God in action,
Lessons learned but, suppressed by the greed
of ignorance and fools, were buried with him.
The variations of education,
are not limited to earth’s known facts
and if the human species ever opened its collective mind; miracles would be a daily event.
Wounds in its river had robbed the tree
Of all the pink songs that once charmed
All who would come for the rich flowers
They loved staying in its cool shadow
As long as the breeze wafted the music
I entered the room and looked at him
In his smile sat a reassuring poem
An anchor for my boat off its balance
A nest for the injured bird in my heartbeat
I felt my clouds cleared for a moment
Happy times I had had indeed
The river would flow with murmur too
Breeze would rustle the leaves
Hours and minutes rippled in the river
Until the lightning struck one day
All on a sudden he jilted me
And cloud surrounded me terribly
Toxic insects grew on the branches and stems
The leaves started falling off
Gloom rented my cerebral circuits
He used the passage and deserted it
In quest of a new corridor
Didn't you use too, asked the counselor
You too loved the train, isn't it
Somebody lighted a hundred lamps for me
In the following sessions to my utter surprise
I listened how by some magical power
He voiced all my sadness feelings
As if he had witnessed the edifice crumbling
And suffered the anxiety arrows
Holding her hands I started from the debris
Raising a new cognitive harbour
Small leaves sprouted, birds returned
Ice of distrust melted in green warmth
Oranges peeped at gray windows
I have learnt to recognise both the brains
The emotional and the rational circuits
Have understood the bugs that eat into my smile
For every behaviour there was a motive
For every episode a reason
I have by now climbed many stairs
I can climb mountains
I am writing poems in French
While strumming guitar I soar high
Along with my mental seagulls
I feel now you have the answer
As to who is my hero that I follow
You mentioned names of eminence
Had I not got this friend and guide
Those names would have been hollow
A hero is he that can salvage a cup of tea
By removing the snow fog and clouds
Softly like a mother or rather a true lover
Lead you through sunshine into starlight
To fall back on when I need
Without sunshine you cannot live
Without love you cannot love
28 November, 2017
For Silent One's Contest 'Hero'
Do you even bother to wonder anymore,
When you look at the news,
Or do you just chuckle to yourself,
About the gullibility of some.
Have you stopped asking yourself,
Now you know getting the answer,
Could take years,
And lots of tears.
With the answer not making one iota of difference,
Except that your card could now be marked.
Is it ethical for headlines to be attention grabbers only,
That can produce violent reactions,
Unintended consequences,
And Totally misrepresent the article it is steering one to.
Should the headline writers be given a crash course in human nature,
With many only reading the headlines
Looking at the pretty gruesome pictures,
And ditching the story they are supposedly promoting.
Wouldn't it be cheaper to just print the headlines. It would save a lot of paper, And we could use the wood to build more houses.
With kickbacks more numerous than goals kicked in a season, when the caption - watch this - is placed only above certain articles do you even wonder if people pay to have that above their article.
Is it ethical. By today's standards probably. By yesterday's standards no.
But if you are still asking yourself questions, ask yourself this.
Are misleading headlines dangerous and do they bring out emotions better left in check. And is there evidence of violent reactions to headlines that spark controversy and should those responsible for them be aware of the unintended consequences.
My one consolation here is,
That poets have more depth of character,
And can read between the lines,
As well as the lines themselves,
Can feel the balance in anything written,
And don't believe that many pretty pictures can paint a thousand words.
Your lips may speak with care
handpicking words that begs for mercy
But eyes will always refuse to lie
every wink tells a truth that lies beneath
They smile when your joy is real
They suffocate when silence hides your pain
every glance displays a raging storm
saying things your mouth can never fathom.
Through them one can see the child in you
The one that choose to lie after breaking things
even when fingers drip with blood from the cut
Yet make all those act restraining the hurt.
Yes, they are the doorway to your soul
Telling stories only your heart knows
You may wonder why they glance
For every truth you try to balance.
You probably feel like the world is against you.
This letter is for that young woman from fifty years ago.
She was eighteen years old; that was me. I experienced those feelings back then, and as I look back through a reverse mirror of time, I realize that while the societal context may have changed, the emotions and struggles I faced remain relevant. They highlight enduring themes like resilience and identity.
Individual experiences are crucial; they illuminate broader issues and provide vital insights into the historical context that informs today’s discussions. Focusing on the past is essential for understanding present challenges—it doesn’t hinder progress; it fuels it. By sharing my narrative, I hope to empower young women and inspire them to recognize the connections between the past and the present as they forge their paths.
Forget about your looks; they will come in time. Look around you; it’s all about visualizing what Mother Nature can do. The potential is there, but you may struggle to understand how to harness it. I assure you that you can profit from the land. Those wild aloe stalks you see are just the beginning. In fifty years, they will be showcased in the beauty industry.
The Pure Aloe Vera Gel: Aloderma Pure Aloe Gel is a fast-acting moisturizer that helps restore the skin’s natural balance and hydration. It provides intense hydration for a plump and supple complexion. It’s lightweight, fast-absorbing, and suitable for all skin types.
By 2025, it will cost millions of dollars and be an essential ingredient in most facial products aimed at reversing the aging process. Unlike Rihanna Fenty's product line which focuses on a variety of products, this is about using all-natural ingredients from the land. This was us against the world, and here I am today, looking back in time to see your reaction as you read this letter.
People may laugh at you now, but you will strive to embody the beauty of a goddess. Even as I write this narrative letter to you, I still feel your pain. People back then were afraid of the unknown; we were not. We were wise and adventurous.
Be brave, be strong, and remember that you are sheltered under the blood of Jesus. Read Psalm 91 daily.
"Do what you have to do the lame police officer
Uttered to the abusive man standing beside me
"Speak to your JP she said to the man who has abused me. I still cannot get over the shock of the abusive man
Standing with axe, you come here to use me
And do everything to confuse me, you twist my body
In the gate and try to break my hands before the heartless crowd but heavens stood by at the cry of mercy , no one came to rescue me, instead they stand and stare visciously at me as if they too were going to attack and murder me.They leaned on the wall and looked as if they were going to start a brawl.It started
Early in tbe morning when I sat quietly inside meditating
And the devil was outside shaking, he leaped at me with a angry swing, with angry eyes jumping out of the socket
I could see hate moving around and his expressions
Jumping on his face like a clown.He shouted at me with the Devils spin and I tried desperatly to get away from him but he slammed my body in the iron gate
And sware to chop off my head when he come again
Abusive men give birth to abusive children
And those children become a nusiance in the city
Men with nasty mouth ,men that is cursing out loud
Men with tainted faces growling like elephant underneath their breath while their faith hangs in the balance
and they canot agree with anyone
There is a big network around the town,
and I dont know where they are grounded;
politicians pulling strings
And police men doing aerobics in thr gym
Dancing to the tune of their thiughtless rythm
My heart is playing a sad tune while my spirit dances
Around the moon, it makes my spirit break and cause my mind to shake and in the middle of it all I still stand tall holding my head high.
Here I am in the night wondering where I am going to spend the next moon, I have been waiting for many days for this mystry to break
To want to leave the city without delay
But the more I plead the more they make me absorb my own misery
No tears is left in my eyes and no tear is left to dry.
And the man that is walking around with his sin
Will cause the whole world to grin.
The night is standing like giant above me and the moon is dancing around me.
The music is playing and and the flawless donkey is braying ,
And here I am still waiting for you at the big gate.
Patron mixed with Hennessy and coke with heartbreak for a chaser.
Moscato on the rocks is my drink of choice when memories drudge up of “I used to date her.”
Vodka tears from too many shots, shots I took and shots I gave you.
Rum rushing from my pores for every rushed emotion and slammed door.
Hpnotiq caressing my mind as I start to lose my balance and you continue to shake my world up.
Whiskey rubbing my shoulder and massaging my heart saying it’s going to be ok in the midst of a cold storm coming, alcohol runneth over my glass I’m so drunk I mean my cup.
Ciroq I’ve never tasted I mean I can’t taste this, soon to be a metaphor for you because I’ll eventually lose feeling numb to the winter, a drink named after you.
1800 shots and now it seems like water and I’m walking and falling upside down, a world I only see when I’m intoxicated giving me wings as if I’m free, free from the chains you bring, oppression, and jealousy.
Bottle after bottle after glass after shot, try to drink the pain away sipping in the morning, it just won’t stop.
Drink until I see the bottom or the end of me and you then drink another to relive that ending, why do we put ourselves in the same situations knowing the outcome is nothing new.
Its 4:38 am and I’m just getting home…such a late night.
And I’m sipping while I write this starting to feel light and see the light from the morning sun.
About to pass out as my feelings descend from up above to the ground like snowflakes falling effortlessly melting, feeling undone.
I fall back into my bed and the world right side up for the moment, as I fall asleep so deep and for awhile nothing matters unless you observe the details, drunken words outspoken.
Drink, drink, drink, am I an alcoholic? Mine as well be one because no matter how much older I get feelings of you flip me upside down I’m consciously never sober…
P.S. I drank to get to a fake world in order to feel something real...
A crescent river bend
Exiting from bathroom
Perhaps to set a trend
As nude as a fresh bloom
Down the dancing stairs
Did she leave her gown
In a room downstairs
She is looking like a chair
Bending her head down
Palms close to wet hair
Sensuous sunbeam
Can't keep contained
Fondles the cup rim
Tide in blood unchained
Shivers river bend
Electrons move faster
In the palming shelter
Balance helter-skelter
River in disaster
A full throated rooster
Nude clouds now
Into pink clasp
Please not now, not now
Senseless tight grasp
Arithmetic lapse
Obvious thunderstorms
Lightning from brain to toe
Broken all norms
Sow sow please more so
Ground slips below
Two undraped urges
Two passions in their skin
Two stark surges
Mingling their chins
Blossoms of teen
Tremendous clashes
Sweet rains start
In the ebbing flashes
Children put on T-shirts
Pink beats the hearts
October 18, 2019
NUDE - descending a staircase Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless