Long Blindness Poems
Long Blindness Poems. Below are the most popular long Blindness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blindness poems by poem length and keyword.
I reached into the depth...
But could not withdraw Excalibur from the stone.
Yet I knew I was the one.
Why else my 'Grail Vision' in the sun?
The depths call me to reach further still.
And Mary's eyes bled.
Realizing for whom the tear's shed.
I know not what to do.
Vainity reaching to withdraw from the glue.
I stare blindly in the distance a 'bust' of my former self.
Passing the secret of excalibur being drawn by someone else.
And passing by the oracle of Ephesus, Medusa's eyes
She drew the sword stone in deep catching my contemplations of the mirror.
I could loose myself in her forever.
Secret Sweets. Stained Sheets. and shaking cold she wraps me in the golden fleece.
Covered in snakes, I melt into the secret skin.
Learning the name, I see my fathers before me distrought.
And see now the blindness of the Kingdom Oedipus wrought.
Sophoclese Tragedies and I am forever Oedipus.
Betrayed blessin' between whorish thighs and my camarades' lies.
Where is Helena these days?
Gone so long, I've forgotten her ways.
That's the trick-she sucks in your depth.
I am Horus, my seeds sewn in the west.
Innana's dead. I broke my maiden-named womb.
Long ago I allocated multiversic kingdoms for Osiris' perversion tombs.
And in the mysteries of deep misery.
I have witnessed my seed coming of age.
To lay thoughts like these out on a page.
Christ, Annubis, and I planned this on a street in Greece, A.D., B.C. I can't remember which.
I bare down frost-bitten from the North.
And my Christ of peace bore symbols from the East.
Our dog-eared down-home friend brought simpler lessons from an outdated South.
And we witnessed our births spread out over time.
Three wise men we were singing dark-hearted songs of a blackened Madonna we couldn't find.
So we relinquished ourselves to Daddy Darkest who knew best.
Redistributed seeds, we pushed ourselves to a static line beyond myth; where men like us no longer needed to exist.
Sweet Virgin, Return
I am old and worn thin.
Now, is your time to begin; A collection of stories your heart has borne, but you lay unblemished.
My daughter lay our bones to rest.
Cook them in your stew.
Reigns handover long overdue, but that's not the style you do.
Don't worry about ole Paw. Jimmy Crack corn.
May you be Princess Disarming Charming laced with meaning...
And I awake sleeping...
Beauty, I next to you.
The mind is a womb
Copulate it
Let the semen of reason
Part the legs of its cervix
And you will see
When moth struggles before its born
The power of its dreams for flight
Words are eggs, you know
Virginal eggs,
I saw him hatch them into bricks
Of ideas that he could carve
Like an Edna exhibit
All copulation must spontaneous
A true gentleman has that gift
Not to force his feelings
On his betrothed
He was also scholar, you know
A sort of poet
That prefer metaphors to the conflict
Of chisel and wood
He had such a mastery of the rhetoric
I mean he understood them better than us
For he did not only speak like them
But spoke their strategy better than them
I sometimes wondered how he knew himself
Apart.
Its sort of seemed ironic
That he did have the anger that Fanon composed
Unless wit is a subtle part of it
May be environment is such a part of it
The cool, I mean
We say that about Manchesterians
Roxborough,
If it could produce the soldier-scholar
Could not have produced just a little fire
Even for the cremation of his brother, Roy
Perhaps it was the mix blood ...
Busta said that his mother was Taino
I do not understand is who mixed them though
There is an overt statement of force to be made
A rape scrubbed from the memory
For how could one half of hm
Become so invisible ...
The mission I mean.
I must rule
More than wood, and more
Than water
For my destiny
Is more than what men may leech
So I am not exploited
I am killed for this robbery
And here I am left
A dead man on a throne
Here I am
Shrouded with self government
And staring into the empty eyes
Of children
So why do I love him then
Was it alone because my father
Fashioned my world for me
Gave me this icon
For proximity the barbarians
Who snatched my mother
Washing her white linen one day
From the sweet river
Do not take that thought to the bank
Where my children play
This man deserves his accolade
If only for taking blindness from my mind
If only for letting me know
The chain had never rattled their
And even in their own words
I could look at the world
And ask "why not?"
He gave me a ladder to my education
That was some gift,
Quite the best of all I am given
O it so beautiful to copulate the mind
Or hold hands through the annals
And see this Manley,
This little fountain of great ambition
Flowing at my lips.
Stuff your rock stars, your heros, your christs,
your anti-christs and anarchiests.
Stuff your false idols up your ****.
Stuff your regenerative ramblings;
the spiel of a million others
spilt in diluted misunderstanding.
The generic rhetoric of another blank generation.
Born under the yoke of fashion not fascism
we walk a happy middle ground smiling contentedly.
Raised, sightless, in the sickly glow
of TV screens and neon lights.
Suckled by the fast food empires
and the bloodied abattoir's's carcasses.
Supping the milk of human blindness
with the blood of fallen beasts.
Schooled in paranoia and conformity
through magazines and film.
Body over brain! Body over brain!
Don't feed either if you want to fit in
to society or size sixteen jeans.
Passive skeletal expectancies rule over all.
We are over-looked and yet watched over;
Monitored through cameras and stolen information,
watched on screens by perverts and bigots
watched for signs of difference and dissent:
word gets around and gets arrested.
Incarcerated. Gone inside. Turned inside out.
I have always relied upon the kindness of strangers.
Spayed to the point of mental impotence:
no longer threatening. Hope is dead.
Driven as slaves into factories, offices, banks,
working to gain enough to "buy" what is already ours:
ownership as proof of existence.
I consume therefore I am.
Ownership of possessions and of people.
Taught to repress desire, to plough the rut of our parents.
Mate Spawn and Die.
Breeders laugh in mock pleasure behind picket fences.
There is safety for us all in our collective clichés.
The pursuit of pleasure becomes confused
through labour and labour saving devices
then drowned in alcohol and soap.
Happiness becomes vague comfort and escape:
Ignorance is bliss and bliss is easy.
Pre-packaged rebellion under state supervision
rattling shackles and throwing toys from prams.
Socilalists singing sweet songs of false hopes
an alternative repressive ownership,
punks so bereft of individuality repeat to infinity
even the intelligent ones just want to be another dick.
All grow old and sick together
having furthered the species and the empire,
return to the organic matter from whence we came
or perhaps ground up and fed to the pork and beef
down at Old (Ronald) McDonald's farm that we all love so much........stuffed
Form:
In quiet, space breaks down into insight.
Opposing the edge amidst deceit and blight.
Imperceptible resonation is reflected back.
On a hunch, or at the stroke of night track.
A lethal tree is still close in the woodlands.
The spirit was trailing on the kist of the tree.
At first, kids looked to chip with their hands.
Seep into the night in a ruddy shrunken spree.
I wake up early to the Greek myth of Zeus.
A vessel drifting on the Dal Lake in Udaipur.
The sound of a woman sobbing in sadness.
Over calm green oceans, echoes in Jupiter.
She was performing in a velvety baritone.
Pain in the midst of the tranquility of dawn.
Endeavoring to perform the icy top in June.
Mountains that frame the Kilimanjaro awn.
Ghastly calamities smash and deeply devastate.
I rightly fear that wide-open harm didn't recover.
You can expect the best, yet I will never hesitate.
My dear life depends on your choice; kindly usher.
I regularly defied to bid someone to criticize.
The one-sided truth was dazzling blindness.
My space was thwarted in the related size.
I felt as if somebody led a ruin process.
Sacredness to which humankind might relate,
With the moon sitting on edge of the world.
Mountains meet to uncover the ornate.
Smiling and radiating, from high observed.
There are times when I can feel the crests fly.
I'm being held down as my blood is drained.
Brain scars result from ruined sight and sway.
When I perish, a chasm arises in my mind.
A lean, edge-on which rests one's optimism.
Please be cautious of steps you split wide open.
In fate, a walk on shells will be optimum.
Shift much fatal shooting and be woken.
I minded my name being said in a whisper.
I was adducible of a hand tapping my forearm.
When I swung around to direct a look closer,
I found myself alone and aching for smarm.
How might a heart that dorsum and delicate,
Have the sway to bear a vast part desolate.
But we're apt despite our humble eyesight.
To discover the earth and the vast infinite.
The monstrosity of the encompassing world.
Encompassed by both the sight and the sound.
Emotions energize the heart within the darkness.
Eyes that can consistently scan such elegance.
1st Place Contest Winner.
Written: June 01, 2022
This Or That, Vol 12 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Part One of Two
Mary Elizabeth Frye Dedication Poems, Seventh Poet Honored
Part One
(1.)
Graveyard Visit, Seeing Death's Saddest Truth
Walking rows of silent tombstones that litter in my head
I see far more than just faces of buried ancient dead
I see epic battles some lost and long journeys some made
I see long lines trekking through hell's gate as if on parade!
Lo! Great and dooming are the vain vanities of mankind
Blindness, racing ahead not seen they are falling behind
Appetites for darkness and immense greed, they think are needs
They indulge lusts, oft by making innocent humans bleed!
Alas! Dark lust, evil culprit, deeply woven within
Tempting powers grown massively by rewards of past sins
As these ghosts cry out their sorrowful and tragic tales
I hear in not too distant background, hell's loud ringing bells!
As I bid one and all a merry and thoughtful goodbye
Into one great crowd they gathered, all with tearful sad eyes!
Robert J. Lindley, 1-11-2019
Sonnet, ( Man, As The Sad And Fallen Creature)
Dedicated to Mary Elizabeth Frye, poet dedication series.
Mary Elizabeth Frye dedication poem
(2.)
Those Deep Moaning About Life's Many Curses, Its Hardest Hits
Those that beg for Herculean body and Socratic mind
I pray reading these verses you think them not too, too unkind
Nothing bad about imagination and cherished desires
Such is mighty fuel that kindles ambition's hottest fires!
Those caring about not being fleet of foot and stout of heart
Or beautiful in appearance and raving as genius smart
Fear not, for such gifts of flesh are but foolish fantasy gold
Too oft disappearing when your human container grows old!
Those deep moaning about life's many curses, its hardest hits
Wading in its nasty cesspools, and in its blackest of pits
Be of good cheer, if your blind soul can accept these wizened words
Open your eyes, sing about love, stop tramping along in herds.
So you got cherished Herculean body, Socratic mind
Have fun stumbling through miserable life while still stone-cold blind!
Robert J. Lindley, 2-19-2019
Sonnet in Fifteen, ( Truth About Man As A Fallen creature)
dedicated to Mary Elizabeth Fyre, poets dedication series.
Syllables Per Line: 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15 15 15 0 15 15
Total # Syllables: 210
Total # # Words: 142
How do you define love?
I mean what is it really,
How can I feel so much love for so many
people here that I barely know
...because I do.
You have all been so kind and accepting of me.
Many of you know how I feel.
That I know I am not a poet.
I am not fishing for a compliment when I say this.
I know how kind you all are.
People have been more than complimentary
of my work here.
It is how I feel and I do not want to get
long winded as to why.
It is what it is.
You have an amazing community here
don't let any one trample over it.
Keep supporting one another
Keep your loving ways.
No matter your religious beliefs
there is a light here that shines bright.
So I won't impose my beliefs but I think
I can safely say without offending
anyone this community is blessed.
Forgive those who stray, many of us here
are bruised some worse than others. We
make errors. Again I love the people here.
All the people here.
I have not been able to comment on others poetry
as much as I have wanted to of late.
I am especially sorry to my friends whose poetry
I have not frequented lately. How rude of me.
Everyone deserves their wonderful poetry read.
No excuses just I am sorry.
I want to thank all the people who placed me
in their contests and also thank those who
didn't. I believe in my heart of hearts people
always judged fairly. Sponsoring contests
is difficult everyone second guesses you.
In retrospect I learned and I grew from every
experience. Thank You.
So my loving friends, I am not here to say goodbye.
I am here to say au revoir!
I will be taking a small break from Poetry Soup.
I hope to return soon. To learn my limits poetically
and to stay within them. Enter less contests,
read more, comment more and post less.
I don't know how I can thank you all for your
unconditional kindness.
So many of you have touched my heart,
made me cry.
Sometimes sad, sometimes happy tears.
I am sorry because it is hard for me not
to love you all so much and I know it
must sound insincere but it is me
this is my heart, this is who I am
I love you because of your poetry,
because of your comments,
because you supported me even in my blindness
held my hand and showed me a path I could walk on.
How do you thank someone for that.
With All My Love Always,
Armand.
People in my school have names for someone like me.
Freak, crazy, weirdo, a spawn by the devil's decree.
I took note of every malicious word they ever spoke,
knowing that before long they'd no longer make me a joke.
None of them knew how truthful were their mocking words.
They had no clue I could spread my wings to fly among the birds,
with ravens that caw out for blood at the stroke of each midnight.
I'd fill their haunting dreams with images of daunting fright.
A snip of dried herbs, a pinch of fungal root, boiled in fat of fowl,
a concoction for me to savor, secreted to me by my mother, an owl.
Eyes that see through bloodshot color, they would see them too
when the full moon was high and the sky turned dark cobalt blue.
No help will they receive from a scream or gyrations to be free.
They soon will know they should never have made a mockery of me.
The time is near, my brew is cooled, now it's my time to have fun.
Tonight their dreams will be nightmares, a gift from the evil one.
With their eyes closed, they will envision they are being chased
by hundreds of bloodshot eyes, the likes of which they've never faced.
Black robes adorned, scepter of wormwood waved from my hand.
Eyes... wild bloodshot eyes, will seek vengeance at my command.
Fog advances to the bedrooms of those who sleep in peace.
My adrenaline is pumping, just a few more minutes until release.
A snarl of satisfaction I feel curled upon my blood red lips.
You won't belittle me again with your taunting nocuous quips.
NOW! I gave the order for the eyes to creep into their dreams
But my heart is beating too fast. This was not part of my schemes.
I can't see a bloody thing. What's happened to the spell I cast?
How long will this blindness torture me? How long must it last?
A truant officer was sent to see what had become of the freak.
Through a window he saw many ravens, all with bloodied beak.
No body was discovered. All that remained was a robe of black
and a note scratched upon the floor. "Too late to take it back."
::::::::::::::::::::::::::
December 26th, 2015
Deep and Dark Contest
Sponsor: Broken Wings
In an old vineyard
When Jesus was just a lamb
His coat eight years old
Working with the chaste Joseph
His father and guide
As the beloved Mary
Kneeled and prayed to God
In their small and humble home
A visitor came
Golden and shining brightly
Like beams of sunlight
Shooting through the home’s window
Shooting from heaven
Shooting down from the clear heights
Mary beheld him
Thinking he was her young son
Putting off his coat
With gentleness the child said
“Where is dear Jesus
My dear brother and brave twin
I want to meet him”
Mary never responded
In fearful blindness
Thinking he was a phantom
From the lightless depths
Rather than light from the heights
She seized his right arm
And tied his arm to the foot
Of the worn, torn bed
Not wishing to scare her more
He remained at peace
Not saying a single word
During this event
Jesus held an empty branch
Observing the wood
As if it were a mirror
Soon he heard Mary
Jabbering in confusion
With tears raining down
In this dim storm of wailing
Jesus heard the words
Breaking through the whirling clouds
“A phantom has come
Dressed in golden apparel
Dressed in bright lightning
Saying “Where is dear Jesus
My twin and brother
I desire to see him”
Joseph please help me”
Only Jesus saw the light
And heard the thunder
For he had wise eyes to see
And had ears to hear
He proclaimed with holy strength
“Mother, where is he
So that I may see the light
Or should I wait here
Waiting for the bright sunlight
To break through this storm”
Jesus said these words in joy
Joseph was startled
Mary wiped away her tears
They entered the house
And found the spirit at peace
Still bound to the bed
Both the parents looked at him
Then looked at Jesus
And found them to be the same
Mary walked further
And unloosed the child angel
He bowed to Mary
He and Jesus said no words
For they were brothers
They hugged with their gentle arms
Gave a holy kiss
The angel child disappeared
For he and Jesus
Became one white pearl of light
Thus the empty branch
Bloomed with delicious almonds
Bloomed with holy life
Thus this town was sanctified
Crowned with golden, shining grace
Poem based on the account from the ancient apocryphal book The Pistis Sophia, Chapter 61.
Oh it's timeout time my friend
Will you ever seek to be free
These chains will not break
For they hold one from below
That will not let one go
No matter the lies and deception
The Prince of this world no longer has a key
For the first thing we need to see
Is that you are a goat first
Stubborn mindless creatures
Running in all directions
Get down off that rock
With your head up high
Appearing as if your a shrine
In drunkenness of the worlds wine
Seeking guidance from the rising sun
Turning your back to the temple
It's been a verdict
The true light has come
But yet so many love the darkness
Lost following others in confusion
In hope another goat can explain
Why they are placed on the left side
Left outside the gate blaming others for hate
I took notice myself , I was a stubborn
Foolish , drunkard on world wine lies,
But I had to open the book of Life
Then God revealed my blindness
To what's going on around us
Being held captive in bondage
Christ has the key to release the lock
To shed off that old lifestyle
To have direction and clarity
To become a part of His flock
To become a new creation of the sheep
Which trust their Shepherd's guidance
And hears His voice from among
All the other false ones trying to mislead
Says nope I think I will just listen to this one
I can tell He knows for His words bring life
They have placed peace, joy and love within.
Seek Jesus in these times, one does
Not need others seeking glory from man
To teach one how to live for God
We have so many religions that come
From the same God separated into division
In the works of man to receive praise from man
To become in unity
We first have to see
One God, One Shepherd, One flock
Call upon Christ to resurrect His spirit
Within you to seek the mystery
Of the true knowledge and wisdom
In His word that gives life and clarity
Love y'all I only write for love for one another,
Don't take any of this as judgemental, for I was as bad as any
In not living for God, it's not within us until we seek and He
Places the spirit within to purify and mold one.
I am going to put a song in comments from a great friend that was
Suicidal, then the day He was planning his death, Christ said
Will you give me a chance and he received new breath, he had to
want to die before he could live
for no fault of mine, congenital blindness has been my lot
i never fail to wonder how i look
mum said i'm blond and beautiful
till date what blonde means still beats me
i can only imagine the meaning of beauty
i've learnt to endure the ridicule of people
who only add pain to an already wounded soul
it also hurts when i'm pitied
with my sister-in-law a constant culprit
the clergyman said my handicap is a blessing
that it's good i can’t see a world so sinful
but he failed to reply when i harmlessly asked
if he had ever prayed to lose his vision
my family even consider me a burden
complains and excuses trail my request for whom to guide me
to put an end to my inconsiderate disruption of their movies
they did me the favour of buying a guide dog
the sighted make much fuss over trivialities
can you imagine crying over a missed movie
or threatening suicide if not allowed access to the television
sometimes i itch to know the big deal about television
but television is strictly for those that are blessed with vision
so is tourism, movies and countless others
i long to be a medical doctor
and also to get married and have my own children
but understandably, men refuse to look my way
i'm now used to the bitter truth
dreams and wishes are not for the sightless
my thumbs are always sore ‘cos i love to read
and it hurts too when my siblings yell excitedly
'bout the scenic sights they behold
oh, how i wish for a day of sight
to behold the rainbow, flowers and mother
to see myself and my dear Stevie Wonder
music is therapeutic to my soul
oh, its the best gift to mankind
though the deaf will definitely disagree
have you ever wondered how life will be without hope
but i live without a hope of regaining my sight
while people sleep, i wish for death
but of course wishes are not for the blind
and unlike those cowards i'll never kill myself
i laugh when the sighted complain of penury
or when they make much fuss over needing a wheelchair
i'll gladly exchange conditions with them if given a choice
'cos the sun never rises in the world of the blind
the need for air differentiates the blind from a corpse
however i've got a few consolations
i'll never get to see an ugly sight or a dead man
i'll never see my husband cheat on me
sadly though, that's if i ever get one