Long Careless Poems
Long Careless Poems. Below are the most popular long Careless by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Careless poems by poem length and keyword.
Careless and crazy I have become as a human being with a wicked human nature that is an entity to God Most High..stumbling upon the tragedies and misfortunes of this World of Woe
Helpless, fearful, cheerless, grateful - these are the sentiments I embrace deep down inside - when will I be set free from this captivity I call Hostile Home?
Emptiness fills my cranium and I am in want of wisdom that is contrary to the lusts of my heart; ancient destruction and decadence takes over me and I am praying that I'll still have hope in mind and confidence to find
Angst and anger zap me like silver lightning and it slithers into my veins, sending me pangs of painstaking pain that overthrows me, overwhelming me to the extreme, my self-esteem below zero
Random rage disappears and I am left with what I call "chear"...fear not, cheer on! Anxious joy chears me on and I am the vibrantless sun and You are the illuminating moon! I'm defeated to the core by the iniquities of my passion-drenched heart, mind and soul
Fearfulness builds adrenaline throughout my body...so uncomfortable in my own skin when I'm associating with my companions
Underestimated by the words I say, but I'm stronger than I realize, I'm not alone and I'm not a failure...I'm an invincible individual with a chearful mentality
Loyal to the creator of this Earth, but I'm fearful of the destruction that the world must go through...but I'm cheerful that You are by my side always and forever - I'm faithful and hopeful that Your Word will lead me to the Kingdom of Infinite Glory, where Jesus Christ will raise us from the dead and crown us as Kings and Priests, so we can judge the world with righteous justice!!
All around is calm at midnight
The day has been might and tight
I might have lost my sight
But I can still remember to cite
This is my sleepless night at midnight
Lies in your eyes need no witness
We’re not careless, we’re not treacherous
For you release the neat heat of your body
I have wandered dancing a lot, I am tired
Life’s a rhythm like ascertaining you’re heard
Soft music’s coming from the back of the room
I dream I’m a deemed a dean dancing on the moon
No panic, that music sounds from a clinic
Looking at her smiling at my nose
I feel life before it’s fall as she knows
Nightly music and dance shake the pelvic
Moving closer to me, I hold her constricted
For I want her to look me in the eyes
To shun old behaviors of spies
But make me feel the heat of an angel
Who is dancing at midnight like a squirrel
Poem by Mugisho N Theophile
I dangle from a frayed, silken cord of melancholy ...
Gaping beneath me, a chasm of hope and elation, aglow.
For most of a lifetime I've wrapped a cloak of worthlessness about me,
Using the flashes of talent to adorn the dark neglect like stars.
Oh, there is an odd comfort in the complacency of underachievement -
I used the indifference of others as my impetus ...
Not to fail, but rather to never complete ... ANYthing.
You see, you can't be placed, (or even expected to),
If you don't cross the finish line, or never leave the gate.
I succeeded in vicarious ways, however ...
Through the things that my critics found of little consequence -
Grades, honor roles, academic awards, sports accomplishments and citations,
But never did I exult openly in front of my detractors,
(The ONE, really, who saw nothing but his requirements,
As the only measurements that truly mattered).
Now I see, above, the black expanse of that life of shortcomings ...
That mockery of pretending to care about what he cared about ...
I feel my fingers loosening their grip on that rope of failure,
Sadness and careless interest starting to slide through my palms,
The opulence and shine of release, success, self-esteem, and joy,
Warming the soles of my feet ... whispering "Let go, lad ... live again!"
How sad, that it's the specter of his death, and the waning of his sanity,
That makes it so, for all I ever wished for ...
Was his praise.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Eight Word Challenge #8" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
Roll back the clock to Josef Locke
(and not before or after),
in climes where shrines have names like Knock
without provoking laughter.
My father was an army man
(and yet me to beget),
all spit-and-polish, spick-and-span,
and quite the martinet.
Those soldier boys were short on poise
in those benighted days:
the Murphys, Martins and Molloys
were raised in rustic ways.
But Duty Sergeant Kevin Coy,
vesuviously vocal,
was out to drum-head or destroy
each vermin-ridden yokel.
His boots could pass for lacquered glass,
his gloves would shame a surgeon:
his dignitas at morning Mass
outshone the Blessed Virgin.
Imagine, then, when Cousin Ben
(all NCOs were family)
provided gen beyond all ken
(with palms perspiring clammily):
“They’re on a charge. I told them, Sarge.
I threatened savage slaughters.
Le nettoyage. A smell at large
in Ballykelly Quarters.”
They hunted high, they hunted low,
they bled the radiators,
more ebb and flow could offer no
Projection of Mercator’s.
Just how to quell that awful smell
preoccupied them greatly:
hard to dispel, suspicion fell
on Houlihan, then Hateley.
Catch as catch can, they caught their man
(not Higgins, or O`Hara):
who’s down the pan? None other than
your man from Connemara.
What Ryan knew was equal to
a peat-bog sown with barley:
he’d not a clue – “What? Put on new
bejeezers, regularly?”
His first long-johns remained the ones
adorning regions nether:
six months now gone, he still had on
the same ones, altogether.
“Wear other pairs? These stink – who cares?”
What’s harder to believe
is, unawares, his thighs’ black hairs
had grown quite through the weave!
“He’s now cashiered for being weird –
why then, we’ll depilate him.”
His locks were sheared, and then his beard,
and pubis, seriatim.
Thus Ryan, Sean, of Shirley born,
his gonads wholly hairless,
is there to warn, so sheerly shorn:
a lesson to the careless.
Whatever sins the Pope rescinds,
or parish priests connive at,
sloth never wins. Redress begins
with Shaving Ryan’s Privates.
Three friends they stood in the forest
Each dreaming each wishing
To be what it desired most
The first tree prayed
Dear Lord if you only made me
A beautiful vessel
To keep precious gifts alone
I would be contented with my life
The second tree lifted his branches
Worshiped and prayed
Lord If you only made out of a great boat
To carry kings and great princes of the world
The third tree prayed
Dear Lord If you only let me stand on a high hill
So that each person that looked at me gave you glory
The lord answers every prayer even that of trees
The first tree met its first woes
As it was cut shaped into a manger
For cows to enjoy salt from
The tree was sad
And complained to God
I never asked for this
But one day a man and woman
lay there child in this manger
after failing to get a home for this great son
And the tree smiled when it felt
The second tree cried
When it was molded into a fisherman's boat
Each day and night this boat wet sad
One day like that day when mandela got out of prison
The storm caught up the sea
The boat was excited that all these nothings are going to perish
Until one sleeping man
woke up stretched his arm to the seas and they calmed down
Did the tree realize
The king of kings had traveled
In its boat
The third tree was unfortunate
Its wish of staying on one hill was shattered
when this careless man cut it down
shaped it into some nothing
That was put on a tired bleeding man
who wasn't strong enough to carry it all through
As the tree smelt blood all over it cried
And cursed God
It was carried to another hill
where the bleeding man was nailed
As he shouted it is finished
Joy covered the tree
As it discovered that who ever looks to it
Their sins are forgiven
Their lives changed
And God glorified
the towers burned -
billows roiling and twisting
into azure
an oily, angry monster to
thrash the morn
consuming two flowers of steel
raping a world of its
innocence ...
the petals fell -
colors fluttering
in the balmy breath of
late summer …
precious petals, rich with
limbs and lives and
loves, that plunged the sunny
splendor, screaming
turning earth to
crimson ...
the heavens wept -
poisoned tears
of mad malice, careless caliphates
crying ashen sin from
a foreign sky -
shrouding a free world,
brought to its knees … where it
found its greatest
strength.
~ POETRY AGAINST POVERTY ~
( photographic art borrowed copyright-free by the author from public domain files at FreePik / Picasa )
. for public domain
The Mighty Neptune's Daughters
may fill a Sea with rage,
when we venture on Their waters,
to fill one human history page.
"You shall write no lines today.
We shall host no knaves.
Today We send your boats astray.
Your oars dropped careless on Our waves.*
Return your vessels to safe harbors.
Head ye back to shore.
Look out to sea with more of Wonder,**
before you venture out once more."
*a "lift" from Emily Dickinson, "A Word dropped careless on a Page"
**Aristotle (somewhere in the Metaphysics) thought that Philosophy begins in wonder. Wonder is some thing children do quite well. It comes natural to them. Also, from Plato's dialog, Theaetetus,(Plato, Theaetetus 155c-d, tr. Jowett) "SOCRATES: I see, my dear Theaetetus, that Theodorus had a true insight into your nature when he said that you were a philosopher; for wonder is the feeling of a philosopher, and philosophy begins in wonder"
I found it half-buried
in the forgotten geography
between a gutter and a curb,
a bent little relic
the color of old rain.
Nobody claimed it.
Nobody searched for it.
Cars hissed past
without so much as a glance.
Yet there it waited,
patient as a crown
lost by a careless king.
Perhaps it is a compass
for navigating dreams.
Perhaps it is a key
to a door that hasn't been invented yet.
Perhaps it is the missing gear
from the machinery of the moon.
The experts would disagree.
They would hold it beneath fluorescent lights,
consult manuals,
measure angles,
declare with certainty:
"Discarded scrap metal."
But experts are not always qualified
to recognize magic.
Children understand this.
So do poets.
The crow who inspected it
with a sideways eye
seemed impressed.
The wind paused long enough
to turn it over.
Even the sunlight
spent an extra minute
polishing its rust.
I carried it home
in my pocket
like a sacred artifact.
By evening
it had become
a telescope,
a dragon's tooth,
a royal seal,
a fossil from tomorrow.
Marvelous thingamajig,
unknown and unnecessary,
you remind me
that wonder is not found
inside precious things.
Wonder is the strange alchemy
that turns the ordinary
into treasure.
And somewhere beneath the ocean,
a curious girl would smile,
recognizing at once
what the rest of the world
mistook for trash.
Ordinary love
comes in many shapes
and forms.
But
True love
comes once in a lifetime.
So when it knocks
on your heart's door,
answer it
welcome it
embrace it
and never let it go.
Ordinary love
can be destroyed
by careless whispers
petty jealousies
and other outside forces
But
True love
is protected by building
a strong foundation
two people
one thought
one vision
one heart
one promise
one love.
Ordinary love
can be easily destroyed.
But
True love
is totally different.
No matter what
the situation
it can be dealt with
and handled.
It's been said,
"what God has joined together,
let no one put asunder".
Ordinary love
comes in all shapes
and forms.
But
True love
can conquer all.
5...4...3...2......1..GO!
Get ready to release yourself from deep waters
Land on high grounds
Thrills surrounding your awed temptations
3...2...1..
You are ready to take your first flight!!!
To a wondrous
Space of wonders
Good morning to a space glimpse!
Luminous happiness sweltering
From a secure, sincere sunshine
Peeking from scarless sun
Careless of the background
Space of wonders
You'll be always remembered
In my photographing memory
Cherished as my own child
Remain mild...control the ship in a sprinkled space
Space of wonders
How could you mutter those
Floating inspirations?
Tripping on every verse
Keeping track of space life
Full of energy and renewal
The commotion from Earth
Has been on the duelist
It's inspired for awhile
Replaced with a remarkable universe
Space of wonders
How could you burn our hearts with threatening passion?
Hugging us in compassion
How could you mutter those
Floating aspirations?
Cherished as my own
favorite memory
Good morning to space life
Devious and uncontrollable
As slick as many criminals
Working as a one big team
To circulate around
The main sequence of trouble
Glisten as the star-filled sky
Along with warm, heartening rain
Good morning...
To you, oh glorious soul!
Your vision shown in space
Rolling in your circular face
Thrilling and tripping unsteadily
With an unstable way of living
Close the scene for a lightyear moment
Feel our diversity
Watch the stars roam about like syrup rubbing against a soft, puffy
pancake
Take your flight, you sunlit fairy
On a cloudless, scarlet sky
Shining as the sun
Swiftly diving down as a surfing dude
Open as the driven waves,
trusting the possible tasks
Put your task aside for now
Save it for leftovers
We are arriving in our zoo-like cage
Suitable for excitement and ominous worries
Welcome royal destiny!
Arriving on the doorstep of your front door
Along with a letter saying:
"Goodbye to midnight bliss!
Good morning to a kiss of gleaming space of wonder!"