Long Bias Poems
Long Bias Poems. Below are the most popular long Bias by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bias poems by poem length and keyword.
We stand on foothills, gazing at the peak,
A world divided, a chasm vast and bleak.
Our mountains of indifference, a jagged, stony chain,
While empathy's volcano simmers, but struggles to contain.
Towers of suspicion pierce the clouded sky,
Casting long shadows where bridges ought to lie.
The stairs of progress, worn with every fight,
Lead us ever upwards, toward a fairer light.
But ladders built of bias, precarious and thin,
Leave many stranded, where trust can't begin.
The Alps of prejudice, a formidable wall,
Echo with the cries of those who yearn to crawl.
We've reached a plateau, a place to pause and see,
The distance yet to climb, for all humanity.
These fractured buildings, monuments of strife,
Crumble and decay, devoid of a purposeful life.
So let us rise above, this discordant land,
Join hands and hearts, a united, climbing band.
Let empathy erupt, a fierce and cleansing fire,
Melting walls of difference, with its passionate desire.
With every step, with every toppled stone,
We bridge the chasms, where we once stood alone.
For only on the summit, bathed in sunlight's grace,
Can we truly see the world, a more united space.
Poets have a feel for love
That others don't seem to possess
Our love seems deeper, much more intense
More emotionally charged I guess
Could be just a poet talking
Perhaps a bit bias what I'm saying
Never been accused of playing by the rules
I'm a “spade is a spade” type being
Now and then I bend my rules
Break out of my mould so to speak
But this does appear so very obvious to me
When us guys are at our peak
As a poet I have an inside track
On the thinking process of us guys
We talk about love with an inner perspective
We know about lows and highs
Poets have a feel for love
We're all quite unique in that way
Most poets can see love wherever they look
Filled with sweet love every day
© Jack Ellison 2013
crying out in agony
I growl at the hollow
I'm shivering
arguably
odds aren't in my bias
utter something
seal my orbs
purblindness
testimonials for verse
deny verve's blunt truism
rather not realize
pick a sleight
plagiarize
one abundant
to survive
inhospitableness
Written: March 30, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIER CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived. ( Poem inspired by Poet Brian Strand Form)
Mahatma! Thou shall be living this hour
So do you understand the need of the hour.
We beckon a fiercest battle every year
So, come the troubles near
Divide the minds so dear.
Mahatma! Thou shall come alive with flesh and blood
Thou shall see the world much democratized!
A century of countries freed
A new nation is born every half a decade.
Not only of struggle and deed
From the clutches of the colonial throbbing
Exploitation of the reform Maneuvering
But of the creed that we swallowed
This was the time's demand.
And the freedom that has come has come
With all the elements that are troublesome.
Freedom was possible, if not achieved fully
Equality and equity are alluring, elusive.
Thine India forged ahead
Amidst a billion problems facing ahead.
While we salute Thee on 2nd October* and 30th January**.
We never forget the Last, who you loved unto the last,
Who in realism lost the very gene of life.
We never forget him.
We strive to keep him till the last.
So, the need would arise to serve him.
As we 'celebrate' Martyr's Day
Amidst us are there your killers.
What a realization paying homage to Thee
As their ideology changed along with time
Now for them, you are a son, not the father of the land.
As you came late to their land
Thousands of years after Buddha.
You are fortunate to die a blissful death.
Not to witness your land
In the hands of the 'modern builders' of the nation
And the new ideologues
Like the camouflaged foxes among the goats.
"You would not have died a more glorious death than this"
Said a philosopher of philosophers.
While you glorified Death and sanctified the Leveller
We glorified ourselves to power.
Mahatma! Thou shall be living this hour
Or we shall be dying!
Had you not taught us the means to fight
We would have got our freedom from the colonial power
But not from bloodshed, hatred, bias
Where fathers bury their sons
Mother witness their daughter’s modesty robbed.
Mahatma! Thou shall be living this hour
Or, we shall be dying!
* Gandhi’s Birth Date
** Gandhi’s Martyrdom day
Oh, my, unexpected foe when you read my poems
you wrongly judged me and in a demeaning tone
said, "Do you ever write poems that are not sad?"
Dear disguised friend, you had me defending what
I wrote bringing me back to past sadness I had long
overcome causing me to second guess my triumphs.
When I told you about the many hopeless
survivors that I have helped with my
writings you scoffed at me!
When I put down in words the pain and abuse
I suffered, you attacked my stability pointing
your finger at me for me hiding it.
With God by my side, I’m better now, but you
sought to remind me of forgotten pain instead
of praising me for showing strength and courage.
Still, you insist on pretending to be judge, jury and
executioner with harsh remarks and judgments
seeking to dismantle, disparage and destroy.
How misguided, misinformed and mistaken you
are! It’s undoubtedly your own insecurities
that have caused these flawed and bias opinions.
In a hurtful negligence, you did not read my poetry
with empathy or even the slightest kindness, instead
you sought to tear me down for what I wrote.
My poems are a testament to my resolve and
courage in the way I pulled myself out of the
depths of despair.
Unequivocally, I am Stronger Than You Think
and I have survived more in one moment than
most have in an entire lifetime!
subtitled: Lyrics by Lamoureux
He writes upon his poet's harp complex chords of life,
motivational music to halt us
from following malicious men -
fractured minds of mankind.
He writes peaceful melodies to soothe restless thoughts;
He write knowing only a few will sing.
The lyrics of the hopeful striving for upswing
find like voices in those who untie knots
from threads miserably entwined.
His voice punctuates with his pen,
joining writers prepared to oppose injustice
while harping on the foibles of strife.
Richard plays warfare’s veto on drum and fife,
combatting behavior that’s treasonous.
Bias seen time and time again,
protest throngs unaligned.
He notes unfair sanctions on free speech and boycotts;
He composes words to caution our offspring.
January 30, 2021
edited slightly for dramatic monologue
contest: My Significant 2021 Poem
sponsor: Beata Agustin
contest: Political Verse
sponsor: Richard Lamoureux
originally written for
contest: My Invented Form - I Write Upon
sponsor: Constance LaFrance
Just a little wisdom
Oh! God
Quality of having
Some of your experience my Lord
Yet is my choice,
To use good judgment
Wisdom gleaned
I want to be in quality within your life
this the soundness
of your actions the knowledge
the principles that develop is onslaught
the quantumness of being blessed
integrity living fervent bliss
Wisdom gleaned
first give me just a drop of your heart
O' God help me become
victim of your wisdom
I'm bias judgment self knowledge
gleaned from God
this I acknowledge
Wisdom gleaned
God says if you need wisdom just ask God says
if you want wisdom live on the righteous path ask our generous God
and He will give it to you
if you need wisdom
ask he will not rebuke you for asking
this principal thing believe it
within your being
truth longevity of life
Wisdom gleaned
6/8/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
6/8/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
The heavy curtain, refusing to be moved,
is slowly forced aside by those who understand
hidden scenes and private dialog
few audiences have experienced.
Inch by inch the rusty gromets
slide on the rough surface,
where oil has never been,
causing discomfort to tender ears.
She paid no money to sit in her chair
and watch the curtain reveal
what she already knew--
a kinship understood.
The scene was simple--
two daughters standing behind a woman
with a purse hanging from one arm,
while holding two confederate flags
and a sign of hate held over her head,
“ don't you wish you WERE WHITE,”
made her stomach-ache and teeth clench,
as anger of resistance freed itself from flimsy chains.
While the audience responds
with tears of empathy,
she refuses to acknowledge,
will not commiserate,
And immediately posts her feelings on social media,
“Hate comes in All colors,”
revealing a heart incapable of sympathy,
unwilling to give respect or show politeness.
I notice and cannot be silent
with civility dishonored
and pain unaddressed,
by callous and cold remarks
That create new wounds and larger scars.
With new vigor I write to avenge a wrong,
push back to help change gain a foothold
On the slippery slope of bias.
Barreling down the mountain of forgetfulness,
I raced to Wal-Mart for that last minute gift.
We’ve not seen his children since Christmas.
Despite their quicksand of un-thankfulness,
I want him to have something for this Father’s Day.
His son has been in a swamp of discontinuance
lost in that great, lonely desert called New York City.
His daughter has sprouted sharp thorns of bias
since their mother’s death and dad’s remarriage to me.
Arriving at the store early Sunday afternoon,
I did not expect such a thunderstorm of confusion.
On the trash heap of heartlessness,
clerks were already marking down common items
like ties and shirts, aftershave and desk supplies.
I moved past this obvious marsh of misery
to a safer spot and found myself in a fog.
I spotted an older woman I recognized.
In a sea of hopelessness, the two of us, ended up
sharing doughnuts and expensive coffee in Starbucks
(cave of debauchery) in the front of the store.
We indulged over footholds of remembrance,
the gifts our kids had given us when they were in school –
piles of hand prints, bookmarks, flower pictures and
homemade cards, simple, treasured, special gifts.
Abandoning my valley of sorrow caused by events
beyond my control, I quickly sped to the grocery aisle.
Racing back home I enjoyed fixing my best friend,
a Father’s Day Supper that he would remember,
complete with his favorite foods and dessert -
a gift totally given to pleasure, both his and mine.
August 16, 2019
I OPENED A DOOR IN THE UNIVERSE ,
UNAWARE OF WHAT TO EXPECT.
THE ENERGY WAS ELECTRIC ,
I FELT AS IF I WERE ATTENDING THE
OPENING GAME OF THE WORLD SERIES.
I FELT AS IF I WERE SURROUNDED
BY ESTATIC THEORIST WITH POSSIBLE
QUESTIONS TO ANSWERS YET TO BE ASKED.
MY CURIOSITY MINGLED WITH THE
ANCIENT ESOTERIC SCHOOLS OF THOUGHT ,
OF WICH THERE WERE MANY.
I INTENTLY LISTENED AND OBSERVED
THE UNDERSTANDING OF OTHERS
WHO ENTERED THIS ARENA BEFORE ME.
WEIGHING THE POSSIBILITIES AND ASSIGNING A VALUE TO EACH AND EVERY THOUGHT WITHOUT BIAS.
IT BECAME OBVIOUS THERE WERE
MANY UNIVERSE WITHIN A UNIVERSE
OUTSIDE MY RECOGNIZED UNIVERSE.
AS IF THERE WERE MULTIPLE LAYERS
OF FREQUENCIES , SEPERATING
MULTIPLE DIMENTIONS CONNECTED
TO A UNIVERSAL ENERGY RESPONSIBLE ,
FOR THE CREATION OF THOUGHTS.
AS I BEGAN TO BETTER UNDERTAND
VISUALIZATION OF THOUGHT AND
HOW IT RELATES TO , AND CONNECTS
WITH , THE UNIVERSE I NOTICED , AS
INDIVIDUALS WE ARE LIKE
INDIVIDUAL ATOMS PARTISIPATING
IN A MOLICULE , STIMULATED BY A
FREQUENCY OF ENERGY , PRODUCING
LIFE , NOT ONLY FOR OURSELVES ,
BUT THE UNIVERSE THAT
ENCOMPASSES THE UNIVERSE IN
WICH WE RESIDE.
I BEGAN TO PONDER THE IDEA OF
BEING , NOT JUST AS AN INDIVIDUAL
IN A 3 DIMENTIONAL WORLD , RATHER ,
BEING PART OF SOMETHING OR SOMEONE , RESPONSIBLE FOR MY EXISTENCE OF BEING ,
IN THE MULTI DIMENTIONAL UNIVERSE
IN WICH WE EXSIST.
"LIFE" JUST MIGHT GO BEYOND THE
BOUNDRIES SET BY OUR PHYSICAL
BEING AND EXTEND BEYOND OUR
MENTAL CAPACITY , STIMULATING
OUR CURIOSITY TO EXPLORE THE
POSSIBILITIES YET TO BE DISCOVERED.
Michael E. Harris
05042025