Long Bests Poems
Long Bests Poems. Below are the most popular long Bests by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bests poems by poem length and keyword.
Self quarantined misanthrope pitched into purgatory wham!
Ably cane resign eternal damnation (mine)
courtesy devil specially engraved telegram
prestidigitation found me vanishing shazam,
without a trace I disappeared in thin air voila
Earthly travails atop horns of dilemma ram
into me buttucks pitching yours truly ma'am
hoisted by my own petard sheepishly wool
ewe (red dully) bull heave human bug eyed
recalcitrant specimen (me) nonetheless lamb
basted skewered (think shish kabob) log jam
succinctly described helplessness to preserve
ultimately repurposed into green eggs and ham
harmless recluse no more valuable than flotsam.
Grant simple wish to withdraw into hermitage
coronavirus (COVID-19) just desserts we wage
us *****sapiens on trial across web world stage
severely misappropriating Earthly resources rage
understandable Gaia she pointedly reminds adage
inescapable comeuppance whereby our civilization
written off as atrocious, hellacious, malicious, page
poisonous primates essentially, dismally, yes clearly
bollixed, failed, leveraged, & tortured planet I gauge
hell in a handbasket ironic tragicomic fate wise sage
of yesteryear did prognosticate now we scurry hither
and yon, to and fro Smashing Pumpkins immortalize
metaphor likened each one of us as rat locked in cage
bajillion eons ago once upon a time our noble savage
ancestors levels playing field now new bacteriophage
relentlessly pits twenty first century civilization doles
microscopic organism (battling unseen enemy) voyage
around sun fraught tooth and nail powder milk biscuits
a Prairie Home Companion ruse buzzfeeding courage
for shy people (yours truly) communicating message,
albeit urgent to revamp paradigm to live social - nsync
with eco friendly coda allowing, enabling, & providing
liberty and justice for all living (colorful) things hostage
at mercy of self proclaimed superior beasts above average
with intelligence, yet rendering oblate spheroid garbage.
No major inconvenience incapacitates rather humdrum
bard (rarely bored), I wanna pitch headlong into scrum
no need to scream and shout, cuz I speak softly to mum
(Mother Earth) reassuring, she inevitably bests hoodlum
standing arrogant, boastful, deceitful comfortably numb
oblivious when day of reckoning delivers offal maelstrom.
by Michaelw1two
Poetic writes speak volumes too,
this profound nature of humanity;
expression’s glyph or determination’s rift,
each soothing rhyme or base profanity;
provoke of consciousness that drift,
so casually or with rude insanity;
furiously incite or simultaneously delight,
set straight a thought or induce banality;
unconscious rubric struggles forth,
within the cleave of line, phrase and meter;
guides a casual readership towards,
all present trends hidden in a bard’s demeanor;
exposing just who seems ubiquitous, who is ingenuous,
or just simply stubbornly ridiculous;
one’s sensuality splayed, our generosity bade,
your critical natures shown meticulous;
senses not semantics, rule of roles revised,
lines of life’s romantic, cleverly devised;
discovering our thoughts on everything,
exposing our minds to Id and ideals contrived;
methods breached lift conclusion’s reach,
an ill-advised tome reaps the thought’s divine;
nurtured reasoning replaced by jest,
releases the distain hidden within a mind’s set plein;
within this relief be it muse or beast,
rests an orators mirth, or an epic myth’s imply;
poetic license freed, such a thing indeed,
that “cat’s meow” bests a graven image’s belie;
metaphors and idioms when used correct,
add intrigue and delight to a word works vamp;
bathos taps one’s inner laugh, hyperboles,
release a poem’s waft, jape and poet’s stamp;
pleonasms reinforce, oxymora juxtapose,
litotes understate, analogies delineate… cognition;
and irony, an express of verbal, dramatic,
cosmic or Socratic, lead to a write’s ideal fruition;
understanding each of these parts implores,
partnership between, these particles and that of yours;
expressing the limits of personal tastes and so much more,
you, your dreams, schemes, hates, fears, tears and rapport;
binding together all of US, and create the bonds that thus sustain,
poetry to living life, to easing strife, within the poet’s world domain.
Michael WalkerJohn
1
Last night dinner
with four couples
points out the difficulties in living together
and apart.
Even the
son of a wealthy doctor, disdainful of
inebriates more artificial than the moon,
full, full of joy for humanity
and life
suffers deepening depressions
like the mist outside a lamplight.
It was a good restaurant
expensive but comfortable
in the alternate life-style way
the cook was a hairy
talented clown
and we clowned though beneath each
facade
was turmoil and decay.
We lay
beside each other like bones
in a boneyard
and find joy (I do anyway)
in the bone dance
to bone music.
2
Without a thought for slash fuel
or deer, the mist
deepens and deteriorates upon
the mountain. The mountain
completely unaware
of its greenness. The ice
is centuries old.
A red-tailed hawk
floats above the unit
observes what small mammals, birds
are in the clearcut
Awaits
the moment
to strike
or fades away almost
silent as the mist. I dream
of it, though I am awake
among my co-workers, the bullet
system zinging cut logs down
to the road, bones.
3
Pardon
me you mountains
for coming to the edge
without mystical knowledge
or belief, only love and wrinkled
eyes for the women and men who
light the fires and wield the chain saws,
drive the cat, swing the ax, I
completely laugh among them like a god
yes, although my face is a mask of hate
and pain, what god does not come to this field
of flowers out of fear and confusion and chains
product of the hot anvil and hot engine
of human history.
This duality, these bone-breaking dualities
this volcanic eruption erupting from some
confluence of beheaded forces, one
powerful with eternity, one
blinding with intensity, meet
and in the middle is me.
It’s slicker'n two wet snots out there today,
my crew boss warns.
Life bests my best synthesis of it
so I begin to pray
for a happy combination
of sun and mist.
Canada Jays
Four seasons ‘round, Canada jays are found,
Perched in tree branches, safe and sound,
Resting after flying throughout the North,
In the Canadian boreal forests.
Heard and not seen unless it’s their intention
To disturb the silence, making known their presence
By confronting intruders in the area
With shrill barking, expressing displeasure.
Their shaded greys of feathery plumage bests
Darker on the back, with lighter puffed breasts.
On a round head adorns a snow-capped crown,
Endowed with dark eyes and a sharp, short, pointed bill.
They have feet equipped with talons to grip the limb tight,
While long, white-tipped tail feathers fan in flight,
Which serves the robin-sized creature well in this climate
And adapts the songbird to its environment.
Then, it’s off scavenging, preparing for winter
In territories established by mating pairs,
Who swish food in their mouths to coat it with saliva,
Ensuring successful seasonal survival
By hiding the sticky boluses in trees
And memorizing the local scenery,
As marauding eyes spy on the jays’ commotions
To steal morsels from the clandestine caches.
During cold weather, they fluff up their feathers
To stay warm and hide their feet from exposure
And twist their necks to tuck in their beaks
Under the wing flap joint to maintain body heat.
Sometimes, they snuggle for companionship
And share warmth during winter hardships.
The birds, confirming whispers to their mate for life,
Find comfort in their labours, making it worthwhile.
In early spring, when the air is cold and the snow deep,
The male selects the south side of the tree for a nest site for the sun’s heat,
Building the nest with dead twigs, bark strips, and lichens,
With caterpillar cocoons for reinforcement.
The cup is feather-lined for the female to lay,
Who does not leave the clutch until the eggs are hatched.
The male feeds her throughout the incubation period,
Then she joins him in the raising of their offspring.
Rugby, what a beautiful and passionate game
Its not about money, fashion or fame.
Invented one day by a guy named Webb
How do go "I have a game to play"?
A war that's fought on a muddy field
They'll give their last breath to insure victory is sealed.
The pride of a nation rests on their shoulders
They have the heart, they're stood like boulders.
Its not about winning and they know
We're a rugby nation, we wanna see heart and a good show.
With quick passes out to the wings
The Millennium erupts, the entire country sings.
He's on his twenty two, he has a way to go
And stood in front of him is a Tommy Bow.
He has the pace and a Rugby brain
He makes ten yards and changes his lane.
He beats the one but not the other
A cheeky offload, its in the hands of his brother.
He's tackled fast and what a hit!
Two minutes on the floor he'll need to sit.
The balls been recovered and passed inside
The forwards have got it, you better run and hide.
Bests of men who never get the glory
I think their work is 80% of the story.
We're just over the half way and today's not the defenses day.
They missed their chance,
the ball went back but they was all in a trance.
We still have the ball and we're smashing trough
Now we're on their twenty two.
The balls being passed from left to right
Their looking for a gap, that little bit of daylight.
Our captain he gets in in his two hands
He boulders through on his ass the defender lands.
That was it! The chance we need
He done his job, he knows how to lead.
The ball goes out straight to the right
Only one defender left in the fight.
One quick dummy and he's been conned
He touches the ball down and you see the brotherly bond.
Crying, cheering and cwtching and that's just the crowd
They can take a break, they done their country proud.
Those feelings they have I'll never know
I just wanted to say, "Thank you for the show".
When rollerblading I threw out my back.
A sidewalk bump sent me off the track.
On the way home I had felt out of whack.
Did extra stretches to create motion slack.
But the lumbar pain would come and go.
My posture suddenly elderly, a pain show.
When walking I’ll hobble around all decrepit.
My legs uncooperative and are full of quit.
Pain shifted from lower back to the right hip.
Triggered by a sidewalk crack and near trip.
To get around I grab walls and solid furniture.
At this point the best way to treat I am unsure.
Can hardly dress myself or grasp stuff nearby.
Pain reaches points I think I’m ready to die.
People squirm seeing me in this weak state.
With an elite fitness regimen, it’s karmic fate.
Asking for my wife to get stuff out of reach.
When not overwhelmed, she can be a peach.
Such a contrasting dynamic from my before.
Winning fitness challenges by shocking score.
High volumes of pushups, burpees & squats.
Frequent strengthening and stretching shots.
But I learned one misstep can derail the train.
Workouts get suspended when in bad pain.
The worried looks on faces is a reversal.
When before I was awaiting a rehearsal.
For a professional pushup competition.
Now totally beyond my comprehension.
So I’ll patiently await the results of the tests.
Wondering if I’ll get back to setting my bests.
Willing to settle for the ability to just walk.
Surprised with all the agony I can still talk.
Took a needle to the joint to get some relief.
Hoping it helps my body going through grief.
Trying to inhale but keep holding my breath.
Suddenly understand why people chose death.
Constant pain totally changes life’s direction.
Only way to resolve is with medical inspection.
So I hope and pray it clears up pretty soon.
Because right now I’m as useful as a buffoon.
I scrubbed the shame from under my fingernails,
as if guilt could be washed like dirt.
Cold showers never baptized the ache;
just gave it discipline,
a neat little collar for the beast inside.
They called me godly.
I stood on pulpits of silence,
hiding my hard truths in folded hands
and stitched lips.
“Virtue,” I said once,
like it was a sword I forged from purity.
But truth?
I was celibate because I was afraid.
Afraid that my hunger would make the church tremble.
Afraid of the moan
that would betray my masculinity,
that would out the softness
under my well-pressed sermons.
You were my fifth year of Sunday bests and unwashed bedsheets,
a ghost in my room,
waiting for me to touch you
with more than doctrine.
“You’re mistaking sexual sparks for soul,”
I told you once,
coldly, like I had never burned for you.
But I had.
God knows,
I choked on the fire every night.
You slammed the door with your back turned,
spat,
“The sex only felt euphoric because I was starving everywhere else.”
Your words landed like psalms of rebellion.
And maybe you were right.
Because in my celibate kingdom,
I reigned alone.
Hard, holy, and unheld.
They told me it was wisdom.
That lust is a devil’s whisper,
not knowing it’s also a scream of aliveness.
But is virtue still virtue
if it silences the body
just to please the soul?
I have loved with my eyes shut tight,
and prayed the ******** away;
but my prayers stank of fear,
not faith.
Let’s not pretend,
that choosing not to
makes me cleaner than the one who moaned last night
with the lights on
and the shame off.
This is not
an altar call to purity culture.
This is not
a hymn of repression.
This is me,
uncloaked,
a sinner in skin,
redefining holiness in the mirror.
Touché,
you said.
And I bled truth
for the first time
without guilt.
I'm noticing
you're not noticing
I'm starting to look for
what you've already heard
with anticipation
overpowering my internal anxious voice
with calm
and kind compassion
When Other disharmonious human voices
speak of win/win choices
Or sing
a right-handed dance
within my balanced EarthTribal range
of listening
for sacred silent choice.
I become
my still-maturing surprise,
replacing my "Other" anxiety,
awkwardness
disappointment
About unfocused AnthroVoice insecurities
in suffering Other's compassion,
insufferable curiosity,
predative empathic touching,
yet igniting mellow multicultural waves
of resonant pastel sound,
resilient brilliant sight
And these in-between times
silent solitude sacred rests
between transparent syncopations
of impatient human sounds,
inhumane frowns
Not interacting with same room
or screen-time voices,
thoughts
verb-tainted feelings,
These soulful un-nouned bests
have, until recently,
invited anxious boredom,
apathy,
depression,
aching loneliness,
emotional apartheid,
While now
in this human sound silence
of co-redemption
I absently reach out
for deeply exploring
sounds of Simon's silence.
Negative and positive felt voices
provoking newly found choices
liberty of equanimity,
good humored curiosity about anxiety
stress
trauma triggers
Cooperatively reaching
for anticipating
future eco/ego therapy
indigenous healing
wisdom securing
conserving liberating
internal/external co-passions,
Smiles
and frowns,
ups
and downs,'
transcendent lights
and immanent powers,
remembered lives
projected loves
for capitalized risks
minimized by win/win nutritional opportunities
for nurturing silent
calm and kind
time outside/inside co-invested bliss.
I used to believe in God, I did
As I was growing up
Being taught of heaven & love & peace
To respect the man above!!
But growing up I've realised, it's just a nasty scam
Believing in a world which takes the lives of innocent children, women & man!
They say if you look with your heart high above, you sense the ones you have lost
But surely if that God man had any morals, they would be here no matter the cost?
Lives being taken every day, some don't breathe or even get to grow up
Too many go young, too many go in pain & too many don't even know
It judges the fact if that God is so good, those innocents wouldn't even have to go!
Yet their are murderers, rapists & worse, that are allowed to live nice & free
Plotting who's next on deaths murder list, who has upset them this week!
But nothing is done they still live & breathe, whilst creating crimes all the time
Living like thugs & acting like them too, yet they're still breathing, living their life!
So why would you worship someone who takes all the bests & leave all the bad to survive?
While innocents strive to fight for their lives, just to apparently fill up his heaven, his home
This is why I cannot believe that this God even really exists, a fairytale, a nursery rhyme, maybe even a myth
Just Look into your own hearts people, would you take the good & leave the crime, would you prefer to live around Criminals & murderers? Than the good people that will cherish that time?
So for me he will hale from some mans fairy tale until he realises what he does is wrong! If a person kills innocents he sent to jail n put to death, but gods doing the same but he's hailed as a saint, that's how messed up this world really is!!!!!
September 24 Scripture Meditations Based on Mark 11-12
Key Verse– Mark 12:24 And Jesus answering said unto them, Do ye not therefore err, because ye know not the scriptures, neither the power of God?
MY GOD, THANK YOU FOR EXPOSING MY ERROR
Thank You for exposing my error of showy spirituality
By Your revealing sovereignty
To prove me toward tested Christianity
Midst pretenses along beliefs’ uncertainty.
Thank You for exposing my error of deceptive relationship
By Your converting leadership
To turn me toward faithful stewardship
Midst prayerlessness along worldliness’ friendship.
Thank You for exposing my error of impure motives
By Your sanctifying directives
To straighten me toward holy prerogatives
Midst poverty along discontentment’s alternatives.
Thank You for exposing my error of shallow devotion
By Your empowering salvation
To transform me toward genuine dedication
Midst preferences along doubts’ confusion.
Thank You for exposing my error of subtle hypocrisy
By Your enlightening mercy
To illumine me toward sincere fervency
Midst pride along complacency’s deficiency.
Thank You for exposing my error of worthless engagements
By Your fulfilling involvements
To lead me toward heavenly investments
Midst persistency along commitment’s agreements.
Thank You for exposing my error of selfish interests
By Your faith strengthening bests
To uphold me toward good work-harvests
Midst persecutions along priorities’ tests.
September 24, 2022
September 25, 2022 POTD