Long Banalities Poems
Long Banalities Poems. Below are the most popular long Banalities by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Banalities poems by poem length and keyword.
fixity or flux
in the
evasion of monotony
a linear turn
to integrity
in phrasal inflections
scanning language
in signature verse
internal sounds
made prominent with
divergent voices
random shapes
on the
theatre of the page
circumstance
leavened by
understanding
at points of departure
into floods
of the experimental
in a inherent
impulse
an antithesis
of the
ambivalent
dislocated
by emotion
distracted by
banalities
sesoned with tradition
a spontaneous
cycle of seasons
the heritage
of life blooms
a sentiment
of trees
in a rare
but natural voice
eternally alive
in an annual
renaissance
of precedents
where
caution passes by
style detours in disguise
shameless
in deceit
sly&aloof
prudence laid aside
a
transfigured folly
yet
volatile
& naive
an antecedent
of
a
genteel
future
The Big House
I could not live in a house with many people
Voices at all hour of the day, no privacy, the precious moment
When the world rolls slower, and I can hear time`s clock tick
In a house full of people, there is a din of violence to come
And whispering sin at night
Flushing toilets, subbing feet
The tears of the misbegotten, those who are cheated on
Drunken brawl screams and police sirens.
TV that is full of banalities
Every news program feels the same, recycled from the same supplier, adding to the sense of sameness and dullness that fills the house.
To live in a house full of people must be very lonely
With no time for reflection
What I seek from you can not be found,
Its an overbooked story with an aim too high,
A dream too hopeful to overcome your lie,
Written in tears meant to salt the ground.
Would be better to un-leave the thought,
In a drawer of old combs and paperclips,
To let banalities speak instead of lips,
Or would that be to quit love on the spot?
Indeed there’s a place so far away inside me,
Its energy bears no visible ripples,
Yet by magic it wills the force of every pulse,
Which blazes the world I want to see
If an ideal is something to lunge for,
Then reality is the teacher who scores your mark,
When virtue’s eye has a shadow in the dark,
It’s time to pack your bags and say no more.
Still, there are hold out reasons to keep it going,
We can center this thing if we believe enough,
The world needs a steer man to clear the bluff,
When alone don’t look, just keep busy rowing.
Should I practice giving up on subtleties?
For surely the difference it makes to embrace
A dream worth dying for and just being another place,
Is the canyon between comfort and what God sees.
The wolves of my imagination are philosophers,
Their oath of silence an oasis of faith,
In meaning beyond their sturdy race,
Woodnotes composed, a hymn to see the dangers.
I marvel at what I believed in yesterday,
Yet more marvelous be it to outlast,
The countless burdens from the past,
Whose evidence, faithfully, I refuse to inveigh.
She the alpha to he the loyal male,
Through the snow with grace does glowing go,
Twice the price to pave for a mate in tow,
Priceless is the light love does entail.
A source of anguish is the unsettling distance,
Between the what my daily breath reaches for,
And the cold your eyes do hold in store,
Resilience, my friend, my nightly utterance.
What I seek from you only I can make,
I stand to myself as one to one does multiply,
For only I can choose to pain reply,
By the choice of dignity and dignity’s wake.
Celtic Outlier, Lexington, VA
By Sarah Emmett
To Moor – to tie up, to steady, boat
The day of unmooring
Untying
Oh, I try not to sneer: “So you didn’t grow up here?”
The reply “Overseas, yes.”
So you over see what is happening
How we fall apart
“Learn from it” you say
But yet it is immortalized
Huge statues
On even bigger columns
As big as the boxcars that took my people away
Overseeing people going about their business
Being overshadowed
A cause long since lost
A Barbaric civilization
Written in dusty tomes
Tucked away in musty libraries
Upended crosses on motorcycle men
Banalities “The South Will Rise Again”
I cried for days
Great-Great Grandmother’s will
Faded Presbyterian eyes
“Do not sell the boy from the mother until he is 10, then he will choose a trade”
Worried more for her eternal soul than the lives in her stead
I seek for her grave in town
Wanting to rip the marble from the parched earth
Seething over my legacy of enslavement and death
Here are my comments on the creative process that you requested. As a poet, The moment really chose me; I was in Lexington, VA, specifically to write poetry. I’d been writing a lot about COVID, the political, economic, and social ramifications of which took up a lot of my time.
The hardest sentence to write was the sentence about the actual talking with the woman in the store, and how I had to write about the time it happened as well as to bring up the painful memory.
In the first draft, I had a hard time separating myself from the content, I felt it was overly soul-bearing. I kept the part about crying because I did, and it seemed to fit. I also kept the anger, and I never have found her grave. I wanted the poem to feel unsettled. I am still unsettled.
Autumnal reflection
This is beautiful autumn, with no rain, no wind and no heat
soothing calm telling nothing about coming storms.
South Korea has solved the problem of what is needed
garish colours, mass banalities and predictable music.
In Ukraine, reckless defender of democracy plays roulette
artillery fire near a nuclear plant; a Russian game of taunt
EU has played all the cards, oblivious of people's concerns
living in fear of mass revolt by the starving and the freezers.
Let the coal plants roar as polar melts and coastal cities
sink beneath the sea and idiotic gender misunderstanding.
Oh, what beautiful autumn oak leaves softly fall
enjoy the shortening of time before the onset of winter.
The Voice of the People
The morning is excellent and calm
I try to write about the feeling I have inside me,
But can only come up with a feeling
of boredom, that comes when looking out of the window
too often and see that nothing has changed.
I don't want to live here anymore, but I'm fearful
of the unknown – being outside my comfort zone-
Even if it is tedious, I find the world scary,
a cacophony of a vulgar scream
That comes with unbridled democracy, everyone
They have the right to be loud when they should be quiet
or speak in a sotto voce
When they can only produce banalities
Thinking has to be approved by the masses, and
Those who call themselves liberal
Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy,
approximately 800 redundant pages
of Kafkaesque scoffing
at relentless banalities of economic and political elitists.
Rather like transcribing often inebriated conversations
within all-night insider celebrations
of a ProPlutocracy Party Convention
Or, sadly, a depressed weed-rant
at the end of a long defensive policy debate
among inter-religiously woke Democrats
longing for a win/win DanceParty Convention,
like in the good-old liberally bipartisan ballroom days
Only maybe about 400 condensed
impacted pages shorter
with the remainder quite unliterally
and anti-climatically inscrutable
as planned anti-ecological obsolescence
through mutually partisan assured destruction
Drinking and smoking
through organic Earth's rabidly dark night
denying and/or distracted
from synergetically addressing
our unwell-disorganizing Anthropocene
of epically AnthroNarcissistic
autocratic-monopolistic chaos
Adding nothing more useful
or healthy
or sacred
to Kafkaesque scoffing
at relentlessly drunk banalities
of economic and political elitists.
"Laid Upon Their Alters"
qhapaq hucha
it begins at birth
the most precious
resource of all
we are registered,
audited, one by one
under the rod measured
by lizard rule
the capacocha
children of complacency
dumbed down, some
thorns, uppity, removed
heads counted
to be held high
as trophies, those played
and won
for the greater good
oh yes,
we belong;
we belong,
we’ve always belonged,
to the ruling class
sapa inca
orders sacrifice, daily
all are held up to the Sun
of the others’ huacas,
accountable,
we are ears of corn
sheared and scattered
kurnels sown to replenish
a new world
fresh crops
laid upon
their oily alters
falls the empires
one by one
like conquistadors
they dissolve us
holy sees parted
red and bleeding
we are all children
well drugged
foreplay for prophecies
all war rooms
cleanly wiped
disinfected, by fire
baptised deja vu
submerged
together
we are something else
to behold
realm of the four parts
these final moments
matter
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“With their royalty and focus of worship destroyed,
the general population readily accepted Spanish rule
as “what was done.” This created local assistance which,
along with outside factors, allowed the Spanish
to completely conquer the region by 1572,
marking the end of the Inca Empire.“
“This pattern of manipulating a people’s concept
of ideological power, in conjunction with
relational and material power,
is seen throughout history
and is often a large component
of the fall of great empires.”
"That’s why the banalities matter.
When the real issues come up, healthy states,
the ones capable of handling and minimizing
everyday dysfunction, have a great deal more capacity
to respond than those happily waltzing toward their end.
But by the time the obvious, glaring crisis arrives
and the true scale of the problem becomes clear, it’s far too late.
The disaster—a major crisis of political legitimacy, a pandemic,
a climate catastrophe—doesn’t so much break the system
as show just how broken the system already was."
Light reading
We are striding into the new year with news
of an earthquake that got people to sit up instead
of slumping on the sofa watching a Netflix
banalities
Inundated with film, one realizes most of them are hastily put together and consist of a dramatic fight
scenes, the hero wins and gets the girl.
This morning, the news again focused on Japan
a plane landing collided with a stationary plane
five people were killed, which was lucky
we give great press by airport accidents
Ten people dead in a motorway accident have not
much drama unless you are in the pile-up
In Libya, the slave trade capital of Africa, this dubious
honor happened when Qaddafi was murdered
He, the dictator, was not the worst of his kind,
there are times when the only thing that protects a country from sinking into chaos is a strong man.
With him out of the way, the human traffic commenced
South Africa had a plan to let Qaddafi leave Libya
settle in an African state, but no, the west wanted him dead
I have read so many rich people (millionaires) have not
got their riches from the production of things such as machinery
or engineering, with the possible exception of Elon Musk
I suspect the entertainment press is trying to lure him
into a life of glamour.
The middle class is not producing but get
titles working in the social sectors, both public and private, but it is not a type of employment that creates anything of lasting value
As for the working class, the hard hat section is
of immense value their contribution to the welfare of
our society is not recognized properly
This leaves us with millions of people who have no
function at all, and with very little education
We see them in big cities where their life is so tedious they take to drugs and think ***** is a love life.
If nothing is done to harness the destructive power these people represent we will end
being ruled by the mob
The Voice of the People
The morning is excellent and calm
I try to write about the feeling I have inside me,
but can only come up with a feeling
of boredom, that comes when looking out of the window
too often and see nothing has changed.
I don`t want to live here anymore, but is fearful
of the unknown – being outside my comfort zone-
even if it is tedious, I find the world scary,
a cacophony of a common scream
That comes with unbridled democracy, everyone
Has the right to be heard when they should be quiet
or speak sotto voice
when they can only produce banalities
Thinking has to be approved by the masses and
those who call themselves liberal