Long Candid Poems
Long Candid Poems. Below are the most popular long Candid by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Candid poems by poem length and keyword.
Over the years there have been many game shows and some are standouts.
With sport things like baseball, football, basketball, golf, it a good combination.
The game shows of the 50's staples on the game show channels.
Have the makings of the treasured memories that bring us to like our Mom’s perfume called “Channel.”
Things from the past trigger so many of the fond memories.
These game shows have stood the test of time, almost a half century.
Let see Bob Barker started out with a show called “Truth or Consequence.”
That it was a popular game isn’t of question, re-naming a whole town in New Mexico, From Hot Springs leading this game show to its final destination.
Another game, which comes to mind “Candid Camera” not really a game show, a first start I think for what is now reality T.V.
For your enjoyment this was added along with the games shows, another shakes my thoughts, “It’s Your Life” a star studded tribute to a family member or celebrity.
Another first in realty T.V., the memories I see’
These memories are just as vivid today as yesterday.
Some are still among the last standing game shows “Jeopardy” is a main stay.
I sometimes feel that Alex is my long, lost Uncle or something.
The game brings all categories known subjects and teaches a little about important things.
This is what the Holy Bible teaches and professes. In a game show there are dares and challenges.
The legends of the Bible like Sampson, David, Ruth, were all heroes some were even inspired by the Angelica’s.
This only was for real, they played a game of sorts, were commanded by God to show them His will.
And the Book has stood the test of time all through the ages, and is among us still.
If we as humans played ferociously with the intent of studying the Lord’s road map,
The Holy Bible takes you places you could only dream of. Life wouldn’t be a trap.
Loving, caring breath of the Holy Spirit could come upon us all and the real game would begin.
Playing with Our Lord in His Paradise, playing for a better life in Our Savior’s Kingdom.
So enjoy. There is still another game called the “Wheel of Fortune.”
So spin away, win your cars, trips and vacations.
But remember this playing with Our Lord not paying attention to His laws and
edicts.
Will only yield you a life of faltering, the game will be over, and you might be standing outside of Our Father’s precinct.
The rain keeps coming,
Masking tears of despair, and rivers of agony
Seem in no hurry to crest
In this orb that is my world, I stand in frozen animation
As I listen to the venom of tangled tongues and crooked lips
Then hear the critique of the man in the street
I stop to analyze and find that nothing is said, just a horde
Of ghastly lies
My heart grows heavy, and my chest tightens.
As anger builds, my lungs feel the fire of the now forsaking
Breath, the pain is real,
And I contemplate my fate
In this world of mine
The sun is sad and the moon weeps,
And the walls inch closer.
As my neck plays a melody of twisting knots, my shoulders
Feel as if stomped by the passion of a flamenco dance.
As my temples lament the torment of this harrowing crescendo.
From a place called malice and rage, hate and contempt
Send bouquets,
But in the glory of this floral splendor, lies deceit,
The bewitching fragrance of the day.
And serpents of a human Ilk, their minds filled with disdain and
Spite, come to feed upon my life,
As their minions nibble,
I question my sanity
In this world of mine
Is the theatre of suffering,
Where shadows of rage cloak, a dominion of corruption,
And evil keeps a watchful eye,
And vultures with hearts bitter and cold, stalk,
As if waiting for a carrion to be born, that a feast may begin.
And in this presence of immorality,
Void is the integrity of soul.
As I listen to the wind, I hear the voice of purpose,
And in the verses of the night, Is the message of the day
And the lessons taught,
Are real
In this world of mine
As this deluge of decadence baths a candid soul,
I strive to be freed, from the afflictions
Of being.
And amid the craving for contentment, I beg,
For deliverance,
And rest my fate at the foot of the mountain, for there
Lies truth.
In my meditation, eager I am to see behind the light
And reconnect with the presence within,
For it is there that I hear the sunshine in your voice,
And see the laughter in your eyes.
It is there that courage is present, and I am fraught with the
Effervescence of your smile,
And your face is vibrant
And passion enriches me,
And I, am reborn
In this world of mine
Earl S. Jackson
July 2014
Copyright © 2014 Earl S. Jackson, all rights reserved.
The human creatures dancing
To the rhythms of blood and flesh
Shrieks and sobs of soft babies
Pain, agony and misery
Years yell the same story
Written in tears and ruins
Hearts turned in to stones
Homes turned in to smoke
Hitting the candid souls
Bitten by chill and hunger
Destined to live in
Desolation and buried hope
The cruel laugh of booming guns
Turning breath in to blaze
The rampage and destruction
Mocking the innocent masses
Falling on deaf ears
Of political lords and masters
Years come and go
Pain, agony and doom continues
Injustice and endless wait
Is the order of the day
But the world reels as usual
Leaving the distressed to destiny
Where is “Happy New Year”?
My heart weeps
The cruel demons and brutes
Celebrating their success of
Shedding the blood for nothing
Turning the years in to tyranny
Determined not to learn
From the buds, bees and breeze
The art of harmony and peace
The hoards of heartless beasts
Thriving on human suffering
But, the Father sleeps
Herein lies the identity of their enemy
Herein lies the description of the abuses
Herein lies the claims against their tyrant
Herein lies the picture of their fixed intolerance
Herein lies their 'no recourse' and plan of action
Herein lie the rhyme and the reason, their right, and their duty
The Americans who led the way, and the people whom they represented, made it very clear that the abuses suffered at the hands of the King of England had become intolerable and the time had come for total separation. No one could have expressed it better than what we now read in in a short portion of the text: ***************************************************************
"But, when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same object, evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such government, and to provide new guards for their future security. Such has been the patient sufferance of these colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former systems of government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute tyranny over these states. To prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world." What follows this paragraph is a long list of grievances.
***************************************************************
I counted 18 instances in which the pronoun "HE" was used to initiate an accusation against the King of England. The signers of the declaration left no doubt as to "The Who" of their enemy and "Why" he was so rendered.
In the closing lines of the text, with their backs against the wall and their faces staring in the face of God, it is no wonder that they could say with confidence and faith, "And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor." As we celebrate the 4th of July in 2020, may we, the descendants(Red, Yellow, Black, Brown, and White) of the brave Americans of 1776 think no different and do no less.
062120PS
on a sultry day when there was nothing else to accomplish,
roaming around listlessly in my parents' house, stumbled at a little diary from my teenage years!
with a pretty picture of a rose bouquet on the cover!
my best friend, I thought I couldn't live without, but disappeared later in my life, got the diary for me -
located it among her father's office-materials,
and determined - it was a nice present for a book-worm girl whose only passion was papers!
although she was so thoughtful, it was a really tiny diary, I thought - not enough space to cover all my gripping thoughts!
my head was bursting with ideas - from appeasing my over-scrupulous math teacher’s tantrums, to secret plans of rendezvous with friends,
and mostly about the boys around us, some of whom were a bit silly,
but paid a lot of attention to me!
question was - who did I like? they seemed unpretentious, were they really?
was not sure myself. one day decided on one,
and he biked away at an accelerated speed at my sight!
was I not pretty? was I not charming?
was I bossy to frighten them? was my voice not alluring?
at last I did decide not to bother about them too much!
but get on with my literary life!
the diary was my precious friend, as close as a friend could be,
I confided, poured my soul, everything in her - from my deep-down secrets, little happinesses, my innocent pleasures,
to the intense sadnesses I felt sometimes.
it was not the passionate diary of a brave young girl hiding in the secret basement of a building,
hiding from the cruelest regime in the world,
it was candid expressions of a sensitive, shy, demure, emotional teenager,
the only outlet of her true feelings about the intriguing world.
how much I admired the pretty dresses my friends wore, and wished I had a few!
how much I admired spending time in our patio at the magnificent dawn when nobody was up, to see what I was up to,
how much I wished I were an author, and wrote novels like Jane Austen.
how much I wished I lived in Shakespeare's time, and be one of his maidens -
Miranda, and Opehelia, and Juliet, and Rosalind -
who emerged in my wildest dreams when I was in a dreamland!
the dreams which I wished, would never end,
but for sure they ended eventually!
A Diary - a few pages bound together - was me!
Tired one day of work and its toil, I went home to recover, or recharge my batteries as my friends would say. As I gathered my thoughts after doing my usual after chores, I sat and listened to music, as I often do. It seems to work for me as a Mindfulness technique. As I listened, I wondered what it would be like to have a conversation with my soul. We all hear, read about it and it's importance, to our being in the here and hereafter, yet we k now nothing of its real entity, consistence, base and its contributions to our present makeup as a human here and now. Who breaks the ice? With what? A joke, a memory? A right or wrong done to someone? Can we even have a dialogue that's meaningful, potential? I would want to know what my soul thinks of me? All the things I've done to myself and to others. How does that track to my end? Is there a defining criteria to one's soulful viability/outcome to its human end? How are, or are they, the positives/negatives/neutrals weighed? Accountability for ones actions, blatant or sublime, inert or etheral, candid or insipid? There can be no invisibility of measurable actions or a common denial of blame, stupidity, inaction, ignorance incongruent to a human's capacity to be universal with one another in all scopes of living/dying regardless of anything we hold as a norm. I would like the soul to tell me what it thinks of me, who I am, have become, lived, given hope,helped without reward, missed, been selfish, denied, hurt, a full record of my deeds, and then some. Why I feel the way I do in any given second of my life and what it means? Will I ever know any of the answers we strive to know which we think will make us better in the long run? Can I recapture, make restitution for past wrongs? Fix current/past ills of my being? "What do I want", you ask. If I am Wise to all, I can be Forgiving to all, If I am Empathetic to all, I can be Compassionate to all. If all I do, say and be is with truth and meaning, then I am a real being of the soul with an omnipresent intent, from all that I am within to all those that I meet without. We are then combined into one vast inclusive entity here, now and forever. "Present realities, Finite dreams, annoint Universal hopes, keeping them alive and well in any human scope of eternity". The soul rests--for now.
The evening air spreading its soft chill,
Playing with the blue mountain to nature's will,
New snow flakes engulfs the barren hills,
Taming my heart with tender warmth and thrills.
At the inn the keeper holds a lighted candle,
For us to follow with our packaged bundle,
With grace I wish to avoid a scandal,
Watch my man close the lone door by its handle.
Firewood burns in the wooded homestead,
Spreads it warmth over the snug cushioned bed,
Waits to partake in our action unsaid,
Melting moments for me to love or dread.
Delightful face turns to look up to me,
Candid sensuality in phantoms plea,
Urges me to be forthwith naked and free,
Passion denudes barriers under siege.
Anticipation now burns to aspire,
Taut space between our naked bodies perspire,
And I blush in its heat with hot desire,
Keep my eyes closed as he sets me afire.
Intoxicants flame touched by libations
Sequesters inflamed wet-lip deviations,
Within pleasure kiss gratification,
Outraging tongue's in communication.
Open my eyes to his tactile fondness,
Soon hands engage the spherical hardness,
Force me to opt with resoluteness,
And lie on my back touched by tenderness.
My desperate palms crawl over his back,
Nuptial quivers awake rapture's with knack,
Crazy teeth dig and wildly bite his neck,
Betwixt the legs he performs his attack.
In anticipation I surrender,
As he sets to probes the naked blunder,
Rave’s down the silky valley to plunder,
Unzipped by the latent strike, I thunder.
Reeling from the quick fervent thrusts I cry,
With rage responding to his sadist try,
As he pulls back to enter and defy,
Totally exposed I shudder and sigh.
Quaking with delirious pleasure I cuddle,
Both legs entrapped within the carnal struggle,
Brace quivering bottom in the muddles,
As petals rock within the moist puddles.
Smiling at my denuded enslavement,
Holding my arms in ardent deployment,
Torments my frail defiance with enjoyment,
While his knee's direct steady placement.
Seething with resistance his hardness grows,
Raw power sustaining his taming blows,
Ecstasy mows the bulging heat to sow,
Freely we climax in its cosmic flow.
Begs reprieve for his ebbed shrunken demands;
While in love he obeys all my commands.
Even before the arrival of the first snows, so brilliantly candid,
we climbed mounts less dangerous than the Alps's;
and we proudly chalked it up to our experience.
Now the snowy cliffs with bouffant boulders,
have lost their captious and so beatific image,
and quite too often we got pinched by burdock,
distracted by the robins chattering on a coarse descent;
I champed on crisp strawberries, while he challenged his strength.
My buddy never castigated me for my bizarre behavior,
and I admired him for displaying humor without repulsion,
or retort, and with chisel and hammer we engraved faces of historic men
on the smoothest rocks which were replete with their handsomeness.
Those adventurous afternoons are repealed when we look up,
and recreate them through our Male Chauvinism, cheery not dumb;
we felt like cave men making rudimentary drawings of their hunted animals,
while their women picked wild chicory for an early dinner.
Chums we were, resembling cowboys with wide hats in a chiaroscuro,
drinking in a bar filled with fashionable ladies frolicking and saying hello;
and chili con carne we ate, and plenty of beers to wash it down.
After our money was all squandered, our pockets were empty and we felt alone,
dazed...wobbling with fear, afraid to face our witless wives at home;
we were two idiots wooing empathy and some undeserving love.
And didn't they seem two witches ready for vengeance in their frown,
trying to squeeze the truth out of our silent and pretentious mouths too fulsome?
Frost will bring winter soon, and the snowy cliffs with bouffant boulders will be covered,
our hair have turned almost white to match the bright color of the deep snows,
as this river is freezing up, to become a sheet of ice, where no boats or barges pass;
and we play chess, the intramural game of a confined life, without those clandestine affairs.
Our darlings approve with sweet intonation, intensifying their affection so amorous;
and we embrace them with that tenderness that they have long desired...
staring at the snowy cliffs with bouffant boulders that these two climbers made their own,
remembering the cold and the shivering...coming down to a valley of comfort and domain.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
I am in the middle of nowhere without a gun, bullets, bow or spear, the philistine are coming upon me and an angry crowd is moving towards the square.
You have got to help me to get out of here, for the second judgment is drawing near and nothing on the island will be speared; prepare your evacuation route and get a comfortable pair of walking shoes.
Daylight greets me like dew dripping from a motionless tree
And the sun with its candid smile emerges from its resting place and in seconds it starts to blaze. I walked in circles to purge the heat from my body, but it kept filtering out in the street and a big celebration began in the square.
This is the irony that I never fear, I know that something good was going to happen but I could tell where, and when the sun came out my spirit began to shout and the crowd in the square reminds me that destiny was near.
The desert heat spreads its warmth all over the city and anger
Turn into a smile and the big band was standing by, the food trucks start rolling in and the vendor start to sing, the people kept coming and the desert was filled with canopy.
It is the magic that sometimes happens when life takes you on a winding journey, the fragility of the wind fizzle out when you move about and the pleasure of life takes you where you wants to go, you never could imagine that you could be part of the show.
Can you feel what I feel the moment is real, just listen to the flute and it will remind you of your youth, when you climb the hills and valleys and the elements in the sky whispers a sweet lullaby.
I am standing on real earth and gravity is under my feet
It is where we ought to be, close to the fish that swims in the sea.
And when the vastness of life surrounds you and night falls
You will leave the desert wall and take a ride out to the middle of sea and the moonlight will have a dialogue with thee. Just I and you sitting there absorbing the pleasure of the salty air.
I am nowhere in the middle of nowhere because you are here
And the moon sprinkle its light over the calm sea and the desert heat melt with passion for thee, and it all came together without a doubt and at last we could celebrate history.
Come and join the desert crew something special is waiting for you.
I knew my ancestry and my dad was a joiner,
But verged on disowning my mum for labour,
Not married in history yet throbbing with spark,
Love, truth, kindness fibered the gelled dark.
A stunner - intelligent, muscular but sensitive,
The royal in me saw the people as plaintiff,
As steering the vile lark of determining troughs,
In a grass-roots democracy to nullify the toffs.
Prolific at speeches, education never lacked,
Peeking as child into the ear in discern I jacked,
I knew nothing was unproven, cleanliness won,
Joules inside quenched the human sown son.
In the health profession I beamed, overcame, won,
Differences waged exacted to desecrate the sum -
Poor, minority, stealthy and dragon ignored asunder,
No equality known to hook the solid, base shelter.
Mobile, but wherever I tread met haters and lovers,
Pranced about suckered by vulgar ruling bearers;
Taught children life and followers’ carers’ quick,
Stead ahead hailed by the people as their wick.
Freedom held my blink until shown as the trait -
Real by weight for the sick to crop myself as bait.
Therefore human aim, space, time shouted ball,
‘Cos the individual is right, by the pinnacle, wall.
My twelve friends accepted my way and my mind,
Chose to love crook, crank or by altruism behind,
Meant rear - banned and ashore, but fully sentient,
No restorative, candid deeds to strike ambivalent.
People glued came to see me - the Nile drawn,
Dealt troubles without ways n’ routes to spawn;
Yet state and common folks both, themselves,
Killed me for a movement shooting with shelves.
But those many who loved me would never forget,
Forged sail by the integral identity never truly set:
They said afterwards that my substance, way, holds,
It’s life that affords me, not the shined, bold folds.
There was a court case and everything, a slot,
When they asked if I was a god, king, mad, a shot:
Dumb. Bitter I’d gone and cut short, they said I’d live,
Within them as their memory as the cultural give.
My existence is not a point - your location, for always:
It’s not belief in me that matters but it's your sways;
Your life is important and it's your existence that calls,
MLK, Lincoln, Walker ball for the sentient, rugged stalls.
Who am I?