Long Breakdown Poems
Long Breakdown Poems. Below are the most popular long Breakdown by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Breakdown poems by poem length and keyword.
Balloons, bolix!
A ghostly flight…
A fight for airspace…
So much air…blowhard.
To sail the seas of America’s skies…
Look down upon the stretch of land.
It landed,
on the eyes of the Montanans.
Balloons, buffoons!
A clownish cloud
passing off a Casper-guise.
A surprise visit from Uncle Xi.
Tea cups fragile…weather balloon,
my $@#.
Balloons, BS!
Talk talk talk
of the atmosphere,
holding the rotund idol up there.
He won’t fall from his pedestal
on his own.
Balloons, asail!
Assailing, assaulting,
insulting. Assyria &
Babylon held ear
to the breakdown
of God’s people
elsewhere.
Balloons, bah-humbug!
Best pay heed.
Don’t get bested.
Poke holes in the intentionality.
2/7/2023
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
The brothers are you competitors
but they may be the tormentors
cousins are almost friends
but may be the enemies ...
relatives are known
or may be unknown
depends a lot on the occasion ...
Anyone can be a thief !
For it is all depends brother,
nothing in the world is ideal
but do not miss it ....
Family is always an arrangement
so put this in mind:
there is a normal, noble family
and there is family rag, sick ...
And out of any breakdown,
mother always holy
and father an angel ... !
One of my Heroes is Ronald Bernard. Ronald was an elite Illuminati Banker at the very top of the Pyramid. He was from the Netherlands and he was a key part in the puzzle of the World Elite Controllers. A very rich and powerful man that somehow managed to leave that Sinister World of Lies, Deception, and Control without them Killing him. In these videos He tells all of their Hidden Agenda, the Powerful families that rule, the Satanic rituals, there dark World. He shares how he was Traumatized and abused growing up and was prepared for his indoctrination into their World. How he could not take it anymore and had a breakdown, and was able to get out. He shares their dirty Secrets and what we must do to survive their Evil Agenda. He is a man of Conviction. A man of Morals and Truth, a man with the Courage of a Lion. My Hero Ronald Bernard.
Go to YouTube. Type in Revelations from an Insider Ronald Bernard
Tell others, and tell them to tell others. God bless you all and keep you healthy and safe...
I wonder if some part of me was running,
while I gathered up my thrills in wanderlust;
scattering them like dust to the fire, that feeds a lazy afterglow.
The Adventure of Wonder. The one I embellish just a little,
because that time away is my big trophy
full of glitter. I can't hardly reach in without distortion.
My portion of that place was different than I expected-
a beauty exceeding the dreams
I'd constructed from photographs, but it was tamed and balanced-out.
Tugged under gray skies like a great god asleep in some hidden cave
beneath a thriving city.
And I made to-do lists daily, as I'd done in college to ease the pressure
(with specially constructed spots for sightseeing)
And some days when I wandered off to little Irish villages,
I looked for better places to stuff the notes
of future plans. (I found them everywhere)
I found them even in the glare of the rocky cliffs that stood naked
to Atlantic winds. And I shoved them in and went off
and saved them inside my tiny travel-friendly lap-top, which I took
even on days that I felt like a god,
because no one I knew would ever walk the same places
I had. I grew up and I grew proud
and then lost it again, when plans
collided with the world that was. And the cycle repeated;
It still does.
And when the day finally came that I descended
hazy-eyed from the journey of dreams, I felt the same
as the day I left. That familiar blend of joy and thrill
and anxiousness, that leaves my chest tight for days.
Weeks passed before I grieved.
A dancer in Leeds once told me:
sometimes all you need is a new pair of eyes
not a destination. I believed her,
and I still do.
And I'm happier too, when I see the faces
of the ones I'd missed; the memory of something lost still fresh.
But then there's that other feeling,
the one I let take me across the Atlantic
like a stranger with welcoming eyes (that somehow seem familiar)
that has me writing everything down, arming against disaster.
Only now the notes die faster.
I wave them off hoping in the future (when that twenty-something year-old
sense of urgency dies, or transcends into realities of peacefull coping)
I can use them as a witness to myself, and they'll tell me nothing's lost
in the breakdown. Everything just comes and goes.
And whether we've never had it, or we have it all,
I think I'll never know. There are those things
we must learn to let go.
It won’t be long before we will see
breakdown of moral values and family,
Marriage won’t be sacred as of yore
we won’t see man and wife anymore.
The family will be considered a species rare
state protected and under classified care,
Free love will be a taboo for its high risk factor
sex will be coded and monitored by a doctor.
There will be computerized fantasy terminals
catering to a wide range of erotic potentials,
With sensual simulators creating titillating illusion
to gratify one’s lust beyond his wildest imagination.
In this age of degeneracy and prevailing vice
everything will be bought and sold for a price,
From the soul of a man to the love of his mother
in the stores, thru ads, and at every street corner.
Stripped of moral fiber from its social fabric
society will be thread bared, soiled and sick,
Doomed to a fast-paced life of strife and stress
it will yearn for a moment of peace and happiness.
~In 100 years contest by Brian Davey
Vanessa throws the shot put, track,
In the F34 classification, wheelchairs,
And is a wheelchair racing coach,
For English Athletics, also an activist.
Whilst doing the job she received a call,
From Alison O’Riordan a throwing coach,
Just after she’d survived a breakdown,
And having deteriorated considerably.
Vanessa suffers from the condition,
Described as Ehlers Danlos Syndrome,
And also abnormally postured Dystonia,
Such that she’s now in a wheelchair.
But Alison’s text was bold yet friendly,
“When are you coming out to have
a throw Nessa?” because Alison here,
Believed she could teach Vanessa all.
Vanessa had only joined the club,
Of Haringey Wheelers to get fitter,
And also so to improve her health,
But not to land feet down in Rio city!
Born on June 20th in the year 1977,
Vanessa now studies hard at university,
At the University of East London, UEL,
Examining sport and exercise science.
She hopes to follow on with a masters,
Or maybe even a longer PhD, loves talk,
Which she didn’t have the chance to do,
When she was younger, a young adult.
As we travel along life’s highway
A wealth of choices we’re compelled to make
As we’re faced with fate’s many crossroads
And we have to determine, which road to take
Roads that determine who we meet and love
What we do, and who we are
Roads where the journey’s a short one
Roads that take you far
Quite often, our choice is the right one
And the road leads to where we’re meant to be
But now and then it can be a dead end
And we need life’s breakdown recovery
To take us back to where we faltered
To journey down the road we’d forsaken
But who knows what the toll can be
For delay on ‘The Road Not Taken.’
Seek growth to get to where you want to go
Growth is painful, but is needed
Without building your muscle
There is no strength
Sometimes it takes overwhelming
Breakdown to have and undeniable breakthrough
Without struggle strength will not come.
without strength and courage
endurance will not last
Your negative past with prevail
You will never know how strong you are
Until you are challenge in what you do.
Seek growth, stay the course
Strengthen your call, walk the talk
Be strong and grow, to achieve your goal
You will never know until you go
The extra mile of the way
This is your day, it's okay
To stay and pray
That's how you will find your way.
They told me pick a lane — a stable one,
a sane one, something with a pension
and a plain one-story frame.
But I was born between the margins,
They built a world of metrics — everything measurable,
everything scalable, everything designed to be consumed
and then forgotten in a feed.
And the poet stands inside this engine heart wide open,
breakable,
bleeding beauty onto pavement
no one stops to read.
The likes become a language.
you learn to carve your deepest truths into shapes
the platform nods at — shorter,
sharper, stranger,
never odd,
never flawed,
And the creative mind
was never built to function in such an artificial society.
where you produce or you vanish,
where you post or you fade,
where your worth is a number
and your art is a trade.
Like a Puzzle piece Out of place.
Peace to the puzzle when I feel puzzled
about where I fit in this game of life.
I've wondered if the words would ever return,
I've scrolled through the noise
looking for proof that someone,
somewhere, is still telling the truth.
but refusing to let the system define what it cost to keep creating,
keep believing,
keep designing a self worth fighting for
in a world that didn't build space for mine.
My mental health is not a flaw in the blueprint.
It is the blueprint.
Every breakdown was a draft.
Every dark night was revision.
Every morning I chose the pen again
Sometimes I feel like screaming to the top of my lungs because I'm in pain.
I have to take medicine everyday to keep myself from going insane.
I have schizophrenia just like my late uncle did.
He was committed three times when I was a kid.
Unlike my uncle, I always take my medicine.
He always stopped taking it and that was why he was committed again and
again.
With each breakdown he had, he got even worse.
Having schizophrenia is like having a curse.
My uncle thought he was God, he was completely out of his head.
I don't want to suffer the same fate, I'd rather be dead.
It's terrible to know that schizophrenia is what I've got.
I guess I was destined to be mentally ill but I hope you're not.
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