Long Chaotic Poems
Long Chaotic Poems. Below are the most popular long Chaotic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chaotic poems by poem length and keyword.
Each finger performs forthwith
the assigned functions freely,
aware that interference imposed
and the suffocating attire slipped in,
can be unpleasantly chaotic,
disturbing the digital harmony,
for the fingers feel stifled.
The garb of glove desensitizes
their discerning dexterity,
the hand dislikes.
The cathartic outfit of ease,
the mitten encases the fingers,
strengthening the fiber of comaradarie
that fosters the spirit of togetherness,
except for the odd one,
solely signaling thumbs up,
the hand appreciates.
_________________
January 18, 2023
Contest : Of What Use Are Gloves To Fingers
That Only Understand Mittens
Sponsofred by : John Lawless
In the mist of the journey’s penultimate mile,
at the edge of the fading fulcrum of future obscure,
at the door-step of dusk the sunset swansong resonates
for the forlorn essence silhouetted in confounding stillness.
The twirling threads of turmoil entwined seamless
with the cleaved cloud of the swarming storm of strife,
ravage the unwary horizon halcyon once,
challenging the chameleon of self-transformation.
The shards of the splintered sky in galvanized gale,
sway on the dismal crest of the curled cloud of dismay,
the remnant rays of sanguinity sense still swathe
the highway of hope in the chaotic journey.
As the twilight time is tinged by the spent sun,
sinking within the strata of the discontent dust,
with the cornucopia of the longing life unlived,
the Rubicon is reached walking the last mile.
The defining moments at the unsupervised stop sign,
design the innate paradigm of emotional epitome.
Awareness assures that the die is not yet cast,
crossing the conscience line would defy self-actualization.
The inner torment driving to self-destruction,
or the enticement of the forbidden fruit,
the sinful exploits activated by the transgression of
the decree of the unseen law maker, the absolute.
Stopping at the sign stimulates the spiritual sensitivity,
ameliorates the pain of existential predicament profound,
saves the psyche from the clasp of soul’s dark night,
unfurling within uncertainty mayhem the divine leitmotif.
I’ve befriended these corners and gripped onto time,
comfortably content with the ghosts in my broken nights,
like hollow frames without their unspoken canvases.
Within those walls, I’ve let my charcoal pin dance
to the sounds of your devious poison that put you in a tragic trance ,
the vibratos of your cackles and joyful glances.
How you took my empty lungs on a ride of jubilance,
how bruises and blood became souvenirs of resilience,
softening the barbs and shortening my tolerance.
You’ve shown me how humor is a forsaken brilliance.
In your arms and in your heart,
every sunrise became ecstatic art.
I wonder if you could still see,
through the surreal skies and chaotic clouds,
how everything you’ve left in me beams in a sea of crowds.
Your smile was my lesson in molding mercy,
and the snort that came after was my sanctuary.
I wonder how many feathered fairies seek you to make their day,
leaving them breathless with nothing left to say.
One day, we shall meet again,
when I’m buried by a fleet of birth-bound men,
through the magical doorway beneath a six-foot hole.
On that day, we shall gather our dancing coals.
In my lonely times,
I feel crowded the most.
In my sad times,
I feel happiest the most.
In my crying times,
I feel playful the most.
In my hurting times,
I feel healed the most.
In my stormy times,
I feel calm the most.
In my chaotic times,
I feel peaceful the most.
In my happy times,
I feel troubled the most.
In my hyperactive times,
I feel less concerned the most.
In my sorry times,
I feel wronged the most.
In my loving time,
I feel rejected the most.
In one's living time,
He feels dead the most.
In one's dying time,
He feels life the most.
In the presence of my mind,
I feel absent the most.
In the face of many readers of mine,
I feel numbness in my pen the most.
The wheels of the chaotic times churn for them
the sands of crushed dreams in the desert of desiccated life,
settling frenzied on the unstratified fragile structure
of the disorganized dunes of desolate existence.
The sequestered moments of distressed awareness,
drift the dust of disarray to the foyer of failed being.
The truth of trustful conviction sinks under suffering
made with mirage on the ruffled ripples of disorder.
In homeless languished life’s impoverished landscape,
sorrow-paved avenue contours convoluted uncertainty,
winds to nowhere at the fading fringe of the time future,
beyond the befuddled perception of toiling time present.
With the faceless faces smeared by the shadows of scorn
they walk on slimy Kensington Avenue of cardinal crime.
Life trampled by insolent wavering footsteps in journey
under the stupor of opoids that never ends their pain.
They seek the benevolence of the society to help them
in their search for the lighted path away from squalid environs
for their suffering souls to discern the abode of empathy,
as they strive to find the way out of the dead end avenue.
A magic mirror told the queen that Snow White was the fairest in the land!
This put Her Majesty in a terrible snit and to the woods she had her banned!
She hired a hit man to have Snow White slain but he'd have none of that!
He let her go and she trudged along a path and came upon this run-down flat.
She rapped upon the door and hearing no answer stealthily crept inside.
Snow White had never seen such clutter - such a mess she could not abide!
She grabbed a broom, mop and pail and began to swab and dust and sweep.
Weary from her labors she climbed the stairs, found a bed and fell asleep!
The unlikely denizens of the little shack worked in the local diamond mine.
'Twas a 'Grimm' looking lot wending their way home through towering pine.
Dopey the younger, Doc the intellectual, Bashful, he with the coy pose,
Drousy Sleepy, crabby Grumpy, pudgy Happy and Sneezy with finger to his nose!
The little munchkins arrived home to find this beautiful creature in their bed!
She awoke rubbing sleep from her eyes, stared in disbelief and nearly fled!
Eventually, Snow White became a mother figure to that chaotic, motley crew!
She tucked them in bed, cooked their grub and settled beefs when fisticuffs flew!
Each morn the dorks shouldered tools heading for the pit to earn their dough,
Singing a quaint song they made famous, "Hi ho! Hi ho! Its off to work we go!"
Mister Disney made this classic film in 1937 when I was but a mere child!
Even today in my dotage, watching it with my grandkids, I'm still beguiled!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Tied for First Place in Linda Marie's "Disney" Contest - August 2011
Tears are born
in the corners
of my eyes as sorrow
to fall down my cheeks
in grief kissing my lips
with misery in
silence to fall from my chin
as despair finally into
a pool of torment
yet my tears are not alone
they fall
evoking a pensiveness
and yearning for
a chaotic world
that has been captured
holding it hostage today
Too many lives have been
stolen this year
consuming humankind
stimulating certain
masses to commit such
astrocities now
Where has the gentle touch
of our nation gone?
Too many are being
left to swim
in this pool of sorrow
for the lives that have
been lost
We need to morph
into a nation of decency
because good does
overcome evil
Light always chases
darkness away
We can not let darkness win
Why can't we smother it
with compassion
leaving us
with tolerance and
good intention?
Why can we not
become the young
country who feeds on good
and denounces the evil?
What has become to
the kindness of mankind?
Gods of glowing neon and gaudy screens
smile upon charming, charming patterns of heads.
All colors of hair, lit red, then green, then blue,
guided along invisible paths, crown heads
perspiring, chanting and glancing down
on marching, mechanical arms, then worrying
as they scurry along infinite, crisscrossing paths -
at once so ordered and so unfathomably chaotic.
Drums are rolled by hurrying feet
dictating the race of mankind.
A metropolis looms, adorned by a billion shimmering jewels -
electric jewels - and an apparition sways over the
bustle, silently watching, silently floating.
Giant chutes proudly puff out plumes of nightly black
and devils forged in impure fire do rise
to the heavens above, graced by the blessings of
the industrial revolution, in turn blessing humanity with progress,
imperceptible except as phlegmatic gasps
and the whiff of crisp green paper, distinguished by
wizened faces and packed in neat bundles.
Bulbous, aged fingers do trace from within
the sanctum sanctorum of a temple aged a thousand years,
charming, charming patterns of jewels
in intricate, frozen dance, carving out hexagons of perfect symmetry
from wearily cut marble windowsills.
The work of a thousand splendid hands
preserved by the unseen, dusty hands of time
did render the mosque palatial, its beauty heavenly.
The admiring eyes sing hymns praising the architecture, alas
they are blind, for the marble, white as angelic wings, is grey now.
The scientist appears, eyes hidden by thick glassy cubicles
yet shining through, lit by the endless pursuit of knowledge
and equally burdened by numbers, figures, notes
and the maddening myopia of man.
On the screen appears, against fresh white
charming, charming patterns of red, green and blue
sinking downward, worryingly as it would seem,
his uninflected pleas let in through one ear, instantly
shunted out through the next by the populace, to whom
the music of modernity rings sweeter.
First Place, Charming Patterns Poetry Contest
Date: 16th October 2021
Nationalism,
nation supremacy,
rooted in competing patriarchal capital rivalries,
is entirely incompatible with EarthPatriotism
rooted in loyalty to cooperatively healthy matriotism
Wherever MotherEarth may yet be healthy climate rediscovered
in sensory input and outputs of a child
unbound breathing in enculturing good humor
Still fully awake
meaning much more than not yet dead,
Embracing Earth's Paradise found
means far more than ending homelessness,
bareness,
hopelessness,
For restoring cooperative peace
more than competing retributive-avoidance models
for justice as invoking a fee
and loss of freedom punishments
while preaching skills in anger and depression management,
but silent about happiness and compassion cooperative ownership.
Competition in nationalism,
whether white
against pink,
royal purple
against ultra-violet feminist,
even green
against black and brown prejudice,
each autonomously anti-ecological nationalistic stew
when we simmer down
into non-violent communication
of spatial Here
with temporal Now,
Competing FirstChoice nation-states
miss golden global opportunities
to embrace healthier polycultural outcomes
of multicultural cooperative grace,
polypathic WinWin karma,
polyphonic musing face
of Earth's well-timed expansive soul
revolving space
A healthy organic way to speak
and think
and feel as a day and night revolving child
naturally embracing WinWin
co-redeeming spiritual ecopolitics.
Violent competitions,
mutual abuse and neglect,
between ZeroZone sacred nations
are antithetical to cooperative conversations,
planning and nature development,
in EarthTribe non-violent WinWin communication
CoArising nighttime dreamscape melodies,
non-conspiring feeling peacefully immunized
against conspiracy theories
playing WinLose roles
embracing evolutionary predative jihad anxieties,
risks to bully or become bullied by chaotic capital climates
and internal bicameral storms,
nightmare feelings nauseously disassociating inside from outside,
ego against eco,
concave overbearing convex,
ZeroZone soul ignoring OneZone body's primal needs and feelings,
Right bipolar conflicting Left dipolar co-arising
EarthSoul Health integrity
prefers co-reflecting
4-SpaceTime Revolutionary Boson Models--
opaquely expanding DNA-structured splendor.
Chaos reigns, oh, such a sight,
Kids are screaming, parents feuding fight.
Turkey is spoiled, oven's on strike,
Lightning struck, there's no light.
The Bliss is so forlorn
The Bliss is so forlorn
The dog pissed on the presents
One of many such awful events
The cat's stuck to the star
Its fur has begun to char
The night of hell is born
The night of hell is born
Tommy was chased, the table felled
All the food scattered expelled
The entrees landed in Granny's lap
Just when she was taking a nap.
Silent Night is torn to scorn!
Silent Night is torn to scorn!
Still the tree lights twinkle
A glitter of joy a sprinkle
Despite the wrinkle and crinkle,
I hear Kris Kringle's tinkle
Frantic Night, Chaotic Night!
Frantic Night, Chaotic Night!