Long Characteristically Poems
Long Characteristically Poems. Below are the most popular long Characteristically by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Characteristically poems by poem length and keyword.
I live in a state shaped by glaciers long ago
In the middle of the heat, we want it to snow
The breadwinner of many homes is what we grow
Here comes another winter, around forty below
Watch out for black ice roads wherever you go
Summer is six months away, yep, don't ya know
Melting snow makes for one big old muddy hole
Changing seasons so often, a backcountry expo
Minnesota fearing Green Bay Packers on a roll
Wilderness found up north, catch it on a pole
Mississippi flowing to its west into the soul
Universities preparing us, system educational
Wisconsinites moving forward on our loam soil
Architectonics with Frank, ingenuity and toil
Hydroelectrical powered first on the Fox flow
Conservationists residing, protecting fallows
Sesquicentennials of livestock, corn in silos
Characteristically unique, breadbasket tempos
Your foibles,
the characteristically odd ways
of your individual life appearance,
its mannerisms
your behavioral peculiarities,
and picadilloes,
will all fall away by and by.
What eventually will be left
is this alien species that bears your name.
You have died a thousand times already,
every feature of your character
has been replaced or modified
many times.
Your physicality
rinsed and recycled through
an ever-turning time machine.
Even now, the way you walk, and talk
is at the mercy and behest of a universal tide
and its shifting dunes.
The dead confirm the dead,
what never lived must pass away,
it was all a game of death
that soon will lead to the everlasting,
but not yet,
all is a work in progress,
until then
the Universe of All That Is
experiences itself as
you,
you playing hide and seek
with what you truly are.
It was a bright beautiful morning!
A bunch of human beings,
Who claimed themselves, butterfly watchers,
Entered into a beautiful garden,
Filled with butterflies,
Of various colors, forms, shapes, structures, sizes…!
Observing and analyzing,
Diverse aspects of butterflies,
This was what, by way of thought, they said:
Witnessing the strife toward,
Existence of the butterflies, they said:
Strife is the bliss of life…!
Noticing the solemn flying nature, they said:
Single-mindedness is the sense of duty…!
Perceiving the mutual relationship,
Between the butterflies and flowers, they said:
Agape all times alters altitudes,
As in deserts, an oasis alters even altitudes…!
Seeing the young and old, men and women,
Running after the butterflies, they said:
Fly after butterflies, that you might feel,
As though born-again…!
Discerning the temporary and tentative
Nature of the butterflies, they said:
One must know that life is nothing but
Just a quintessence of dust…!
Judging the nature of butterflies,
This way and that, they said:
Neti… Neti… which means,
Neither this nor that…!
Pondering over the short and flimsy
Life-span of butterflies, they said:
Laissez-faire…!
Thus, the self-styled butterfly watchers,
Went on creating various concepts,
Philosophies and theologies on butterflies…!
But, the butterflies, just kept on flying,
And fluttering around characteristically –
Calm…!
Quiet…!
Composed…!
Carefree…!
Normal…!
Natural…!
Unruffled…!
Untroubled…!
This is because –
Whether one appreciates or depreciates a butterfly,
One should know the actual fact, that –
Ultimately –
A butterfly is a butterfly…!
09 October 2021
Running over full speed to the tree,
The largest of all the items,
He clapped his hands excitedly together,
Three times rhythmically,
And smiled characteristically.
He got there and hugged the fir,
But its branches stabbed and hurt,
Such that all he could do was fall,
And cry loudly, wailing to all,
For anyone to see his call.
After someone motioned to him,
To serious up and rise,
He stood there a minute and then bent,
Grasped the tree with his two hands,
And embraced it as if a girlfriend who stands.
He was taken by Christmas fir remarkably,
Because it felt as incapable as him,
But it felt at the same time completely active;
All in one, though very much indiscreetly,
The two things went together simultaneously.
Eventually he set his new tree, his girlfriend, up,
Cherl, and settled her in her soil filled pot,
Using his fists to pat the soil flat,
And steady the tree which seemed to joust with him,
For attitude, and for a personality without vibes dim.
Soon he just got on with the job,
And he picked up somehow the lights,
But they were plugged into the socket;
So they electrocuted hm which made him jump back,
Feeling the impulse which gave him a whack.
He just looked at Cherl and was claimed,
By her solidity and her staunchness at the occasion;
So after a bit, continued to decorate with Christmas balls,
Although they dropped from his grasp often,
And then he added different shapes and angels to soften.
And lastly he went back to the lights,
Untangled them in a difficult process,
Hung them round and round and round,
Until they made a spiral shape downwards,
And the lighting of them took away his words.
It took him ages to complete, days,
But Cherl was delighted and alight;
He felt as if he’d achieved something great,
As it was like receiving a gold star from a primary teacher;
The event did wet his cheek as he was a reacher.
The train trundles on, leaving behind at each station a soldier with his own past
Heavyweight in its endeavours portraying its only passengers as its un-holy cast
Each face a palpable grey, their blackened eyes sunken within their vast sockets
Each sat at their given seats characteristically sullen, with their hands in pockets
One only feels the coldness, within each carriage that descended upon them all
As not one ice breath plume emanating from the mouths, or nostrils did sprawl
Lifeless grey of their eyes gave nothing away of their hell, or of the horrors seen
Of a war where no real moral understanding is ever found for any of us to glean
Each un-sung hero now taking his last journey home, each to its own eternal life
Each one given their own time to offload their burdens of the unforgivable strife
Only once the reality of what has happened did the train lessen its speed to halt
As the one last soldier left his seat, then upon the platform made his last assault
He was going home now, but with no lessening of the grey pallor within his eyes
His home a cold grave now, lying under the darken un-forgiving, harrowing skies
He had fought for his country with an unquestionable honour, lay now as forgot
His remains under a white ensign Portland headstone buried within its own plot
A young man with no wife, or child, just parents themselves long gone deceased
His secrets of the war held within this mound of earth remains to all unreleased
So if passing a graveyard, and upon your eyes a lonely regimental grave you see
Place a flower of remembrance and set a well-earned soldier from his sleep, free