Long Choosing Poems
Long Choosing Poems. Below are the most popular long Choosing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Choosing poems by poem length and keyword.
5/21/11-5/22/11
I rule over the night
undaunted with all my might
I have time to spare all I can bare
Watching the hand chime
tugging…pushing…shoving
through whirling toil
that feed the spoil
Perplexing strife
refusing to give up
Power and torment
We are too caught up in our own power
and ruling over each passing moment
each passing night…destroying the twin towers
Who’s doing all the blaming?
Who’s choosing our faults?
I’m tossed…shifting around with uncontrolled anguish
Zipping…tripping over rambling bolts
spiraling into a mad house
Don’t enchant your intolerable voice
I see no love dwelling in this household
Do you seek for your power…
you insufferable traitor?
Seeking our upcoming doom
brewing strife in the heap of ruins
brewing strife while we still leave room
to obey and remain under power
You are assuming the worst
father…mother…
rule over the passing anguish…circling around
stumbling around…not aware
Hey you! play fair
Behave and stay awhile
before you feed the fire that holds sheer vile
Allow love to not be thrown away
into another pile
I grasp no love engrained
In our giving garden
that plants ceaseless approval
Pardon my faults
I was far from comforting sleep
Dread is driven mysteriously
Through an endless night
Moving on the tracks
Forming into an alarming train
Who’s doing all the blaming?
Who’s choosing our faults?
Who did the labor suitably?
worthwhile father…pleasure-seeking mother
Don’t enchant your intolerable voices
and expect us to listen sensibly
Demanding us to do labor
and assist our displeased neighbor
Why do you melt the delight away?
Throwing away a flavor of ecstasy
and put us to glove-less labor
without putting our favor and opinion
into the overlooked pile
Burning agony
dries the buried glee
Saved for a grieving moment
Playing like a warped tune… unable to express
solitude that develops in the heart
raped by the ragged uncertainties
without taking heed of our pleas
These desirable moments
Cherished in the deplorable journey
They weren’t acknowledged by power
Love in those days were brand new
Do you have a clue?
they were cherished...
Bountiful…
stranded in a deserted past
in merciful beauty…caught under the spell
Where did that come to pass?
Where’s the love?
Who’s doing all the blaming?
Who’s choosing our faults?
Homeward Path 11/08 Roger M. Landry
Wise men say, stay out of the fray,
And perhaps that is logical, and even soundly psychological.
They advise, do not go my son into the dark wood; you will only come to no good.
And I ask, if the road is less traveled, it will leave me baffled?
The trail in the forest tall could it leave me feeling forever small?
Alone, will I not even hear the sound of the stately tree’s fall?
In my craven travels, shall I perhaps see the pellucid pillars of heaven seven,
Or experience the depraved depths of perdition?
But, what if there is no one there to tell?
No singing angels, or laughing demons from hell.
Shall I be weary of my iconoclastic dreams?
Because, in my youth, I had magic visions of being the princely toad,
Of crossing elegantly the paved road to fame.
However, carrion birds now read, feed on my bloody entrails strewn along the lane.
Now, I only wake up in the fevered night, no princess to soothe my stifled screams.
Beaten and torn, shall I become the salacious stripper of old?
That, with nagging words, expresses my vulnerable, and sagging soul.
Like a lost muse, shall the tiger burning bright, in the forest of the night,
Become my one and only frightful and guiding light?
I can see quite far from the gritty solitude of a lofty mountain.
But, would rather sit with my smiling children by a bubbling fountain,
Have someone park my expensive car,
Or sip beer, with friends, in a quaint neighborhood bar.
Going on a shopping spree and wearing designer clothes,
I think, is superior than to society loathe.
To have opulent gold is better than writing poetry in poverty, wouldn’t you agree?
Or, would it be better if I contemplate my fate, eternally alone, under a frigid night star,
While I pluck loose strings on an out of tune guitar?
They say that if you favor the glacier-blue, the flavor will get inside of you.
Now that I have made enough bad choices, because of those niggling internal voices,
I am eternally lost, my mind unloosing in a wilderness of my own choosing.
Like a pharaoh, I know there is a divine treasure in my head,
But, I work and work, feel dead, and just can’t get out of bed.
The road has its own agenda, to which I know my heart must surrender,
Therefore, I shall curb my shameful wrath,
And trust that my soul knows its homeward path.
Form:
Serious sibling subluxation...
rapprochement somewhat salvaged dislocation
Truth be told about following poem
mostly written quite some years ago,
and revisions made to recreate
and revise a more satisfactory literary product.
This trademark ungainly, unsightly,
and unwieldy title essentially
huzzah mask ***** aid,
(my humble apology NOT
to incite unwanted
and unwonted anger
among lgbtqia community),
and accentuates tendency
(mine) to administer
reverent unpretentious yawping,
sans (asper thy usual)
wordy, quirky, nutty, heady, easy...
and gallimaufry charade,
though pointed lament
decries copious blather,
which awareness (in tandem
with better devilishly cherubic angels)
prevail upon sesquipedalian
nippy nap noopy quirkiness, might be
in my best (in show)
interest to evade
leaving an unsuspecting
reader psychologically frayed,
and without doubt prematurely
finds same cyber surfer
harried and grayed,
styled akin to experience dramatic,
and sudden onset of progeria
hence, a concerted effort
will be orchestrated, i.e.made
so everyone involved woodwind
fur me (a hip cat) tabby
conscientiously choosing
meow me modus operandi
to mute trumpeting,
associated with this one man
faltering hit parade,
hence, an intent to write
swiftly tailored and more clearly,
cogently, and creditably
qua more understandable to invite,
subsequently witnessing, an
increased authorial fan
base, and unite
easy to comprehend
underlying intelligent conversation,
and/or share something trite,
anyway, thee impetus regarding
risking emailing a younger sister,
where repressed spite led
to dissolution, née cessation
of brotherly linkedin communication
engendered me to make right
egregious emotional estrangement,
principally vitiated, nursed,
generated, augmented
(thank you very much) by me,
viz in sum avoidance behavior
(traipsing, purring, loping,
humming, and doodling along) quite
familiarly, easily, (no matter
discontentedly), alas and alack
moment seemed apropos
for this only bro
their to allow, enable,
and proffer selflessness -
pushing aside ego
(mine) and attempt to go
for the gusto hoe
embarking, kickstarting, and
resolving upon reasonable resolutions
to convey persevere re-establishing
cordiality, despite misgivings
toward Shari Todd
thee family member in question.
Dear Thom the Train
Attorney Page,
Defender of all Creatures
here below
in these DisUniting States
of throwback uncivil disunion,
What is your root foundation
for a constitutional argument
that all living residents
of these remaining United Democratic States
have a right
to restoring healthy justice,
to resiliently retaining healthy life?
Is this sacred democratic Source
inter-related with values
like well-being
prosperity
liberty
public health optimization,
declarations of defensive rights
for all Creation
to freely seek democratic empowerment
and liberating enlightenment?
Non-royalist
non-fascist
non-authoritarian
non-patriarchal
non-colonizing
non-racist
non-demonizing
non-anthropocentric,
non-xenophobic
non-narcissistic
non-egocentric
and, thereby, pro-green new and ancient win/win deals.
I am not a lawyer,
as you can clearly already hear,
but more of a constitutional
polycultural historian,
So, how do you briefly argue
in courts of your licit choosing,
an evolutionary theory
of democracy still healthily emergent?
Starting with straight
white
patriarchal property owners
of
African and Native American
domesticated and feminized
economic and political
natural and spiritual slaves,
Moving multiculturally out
to include prisoners
and homeless shelter dwellers,
human
and now our imprisoned
and life-endangered dogs
and cats,
horses
and cattle,
birds
and guines pigs
of democratic tensions
intentions
extensions
of dominating fraternity
and liberating sorority.
History shows
where our constitutional democratic story began
with white straight male slave-owner privilege,
But, how do you predict where
and when this evolving
expanding
emergent cooperative health-wealthing
cooperative reality
should
or could
or would globally end?
Or,
it is your brief courtship win/win position
that we must expect no such end
to this multiculturally revolutionary
democratic 20/20 revolution?
Moving from more Straight White Patriarchal
independence days
toward more resiliently fulfilling
Earth InterDependence Days
and sensory moonlit nights
Of freely orbiting stars
and planets
from democratizing Positive/Negative
Yang/Yin Energy
Empowering health,
Enlightening true and beautiful
polycultural
trans-historic
epic green
democratic wealth.
Of first embrace and broken glass
I cherish that first spark
New light upon our forest' dark.
Do you recall that northern wind?
It came at first so swift
Perhaps our growing light enraged
Poor Hopelessness', her whims denied
Inspired shadows from retreat
Those having once left us in our light.
"There's hope for you!” her battle cries
“Forwards; towards the glowing night
Attack! The lion will not bite
I promise he will turn blind eyes
Go back! I will cover your eyes!”
“Follow storms winds descent
True path through forests dense
Enter hence.
Rip, tear, rent!
From low to high
Head to toes
Even to above
Where dark forest glows
Churn even these shades
Whites and grays
Yellows arrayed,
Where once were dulled
"My children do not stop there!"
She would say,
"You must inscribe them full
Lest unseen hopes, occupy as slivers
As pretending tones, they have been known to hide
Shimmers upon the edge of shades
We must leave them emptied, lost whims, denied
Their ways left as waste to ruins
Despairs do not relent with dooms
Leaving chance to sparks in time
Per chancing kindles from hearts that loom.”
“Descend, my raging opaque!
The dense itself engrave
Teach young love old lessons
That she may now know at such young age
The heart of this forest lessened.”
“Now go' my shadowed tails delight
Slice sharp paths without care
Cause those within their ears too bear
The roaring of fresh leaves…
Torn from their rightful place
Before the given time”
“Dying screams let them endure
Let them feel your shadows
….Purge!”
The cold so swift
We were so sure This was spring
........residues
Your body’s naked form, lovely
Dropping, encircling our flame
Dying breath
Woman’s instinct
Nurturing
Disregarding winds intent
Then came the rains' extinguishing
Saving coals
Your hands were warm
My feet were cold
I shiver at this memory.
…Rains cold intensity
The downpour overcoming
Me
I'm sorry I could not see
My circle enclosed circles now
Circling
I knew the dark complete
As our smoke heavenward arose
To late this pittance; ash offerings
Ashes on the ground
Then came the rivers rage
Cutting its path through the heart
Forever too leave
Forever leaving its mark
Upon our forest dark
Meandering on; its choosing path
And I with it beside; belonged
For a chosen time
My love again I say
For a chosen time
Do you understand?
I chose the time of days
My shame
Talk to yourself.
Think and thank about yourselves,
how you have changed into different interests/disinterests over years and decades.
Think about yourselves
at least as generously
as you might best listen and smell and taste,
both digest and nourish,
your own worst Alien Enemy.
What is it that you can see
that you cannot yet perceive
with mutually cooperative compassion?
To live in self-regenerative health,
is to notnot Evil while self-communicating,
to avoid LoseLose metaphysical and physical gaming strategies
through ego-identity self-minimalization,
Empty of FertileTime,
choosing instead to self and other communicate,
observe and be knowingly watched, and co-presently loved,
to hear
and become listened to and known and appreciated as is,
to smell
and sense health
more powerfully than pathology
as positive with negative correlations,
fragrant (0)sum bilateral binomial double-binding frequencies,
taste and become digested by decomposing composts
of fractal-fusing-integrating time,
four seasons of iconic 4DNA/4RNA
Earth-Octave Climate Health Solidarity,
touch yourself
and be touched through all your timeless histories of Elder regenerators.
Talk to yourselves
at least as generously
as you listen most robustly
to past Alien EcoPolitical Climate-Times
belonging rightfully, peacefully, regeneratively, justly
within EarthTribe's Cooperative-Integrative Spaces,
People and OrganicPlaces with names and helpful, rather than condemning, labels,
Frames and Gestalts
and MetaParadigms of Climate ReGenerativity.
Imagine inviting your sacred-secular
polypathic mindbody into this new day
to be filled to overflowing fruition
by Others
sharing your Ego EarthTribe DNA/RNA Interdependent Identity--LeftBrain
with Empty (0) Reverse RightBrain
spiral-octave multiculturally regenerating
4DNA WinWin SacredDynamics,
Primal DiPolar DoubleBinding Dialectal Dimensions;
bicameral ego/economic health v political powering-over pathology,
polypathic ecoconsciousness
talking and listening healthier ecopolitics to yourselves,
past,
co-present,
as future regenerations.
Our multicultural ecopolitical Golden Rule,
treat yourself,
meet yourself,
watch and listen and sniff yourself,
at least as well
as you would
if you were also your own worst economic and politically-overpowering enemies.
Most of my classes suck (by that I mean they’re difficult). English is ok - especially the writing. I’d never want to major in English Literature though. It’s one of the hardest majors at Yale. It may be harder than Pre-med. They make it hard to discourage people from choosing it. If you don’t love literature, don’t live and breathe books and writing, you’ll *never* navigate the major.
Despite English being her third language, Leong is an excellent proofreader (which I need).
“Put an emoji in there,” Leong recommended, “it’ll show you’re chill and not panicking.”
“No emojis! I said, shocked, “This is supposed to be professional.” Still, every time I submit a draft the professor says it’s good (an “A”) and I’m done.
Sir Paul McCartney is at Yale today, talking about a book he wrote, I think. They’re piping his music all over campus. I don’t have time to see him, but his “Ram” album is one of my all-time favorites. I know people have their favorite Beatle, but I think Paul has, by far, the most lyrical solo career.
Lisa and I just arrived at the fitness center (in the residence basement) we’re the only three there. Peter (my BF) got there ahead of us, about 30 minutes ago. He’s been working out on one of the weight machines. He’s tall and fit, with black-almost blue hair and a new beard. Sweaty and shirtless, he’s a take-your-breath-away spectacle. The sight of him jangled up and down my libido. I felt myself groan inwardly. “Put on a shirt!” I said.
He comes over to where I’ve taken a seat. The sun is coming in at an angle which reveals that the air between us is filled with dust motes but now he looks like he’s a model standing in a spotlight. I just look at him and smile wickedly. “Why,” he says, getting very close.
“Because you’re distracting!” I answer laughing, as I push him away, “and I have a TON of reading to do.”
I like to read while I’m walking on the treadmill. He tries to nuzzle me as I step up. “Look,” I say, “If I can finish my reading (~200 pages) by dinner, I‘ll have something special for you.”
“Like what?” he asks, smiling and suddenly interested.
“Something for you to look back on when you’re a very old man.” I whisper.
“What are we standing around for?!” He demands, putting my chemistry book and water bottle on the treadmill and stepping away to slip on his t-shirt.
The darkened sky had hid the sun,
I bravely fought the storm to come.
Its voracious voice roared
'Til reached its peak.
The time had come for me to seek,
The chilling call I'd heard all week.
From the deepest place that lay within
The old orchard wood.
When the stillness stood,
I took a chance, then firmly
Stepped off the porch,
To see what would become,
During my walk through
The old familiar wood.
To learn of things I'd yet to know.
Starting out it was slow.
I noticed first the new, green grass.
Filling in, standing firm, straight and strong,
Each tiny blade found its spot, still becoming.
One was small but adding up, all became an
Armor, an umbrella.
Where stood weaker things til ready
To learn of things too young to know.
A sudden gust of wind, blew across my face.
Taking me back in time.
A memory flashed across my mind, when I was small
I yearned to grow to learn those things too young to know.
An unyielding foe of future days,
When good was in, love was plenty, yet
Needed still my own umbrella.
Protecting me against the ills and woes of things
I had yet to know. My heart beat harder the deeper
I went into the old orchard wood, then,
Attentive in my listening,
Til in the middle of the wood,
I found myself
Where it was full of busy-ness,
Fallen leaves and such,
The colors richly touched with hues of light among the tones
Of silver stones in babbling brook, here lay the heaviness.
Of daily deeds which lay the seeds that would become tomorrow.
Where joy is sprinkled in amid our sorrow.
The day had come to learn of things I had yet to know.
I knew my learning had just begun.
The biggest fight, the one within ourselves.
We grow our armor by choosing hues of light against the dark
Of tones we speak or build to keep
Out the darkest hues that hurt.
Choosing carefully our fate by keeping kindness daily in,
While sweeping hate away and out.
Then under our umbrella keeping safe those smaller ones
Who are too young to learn of things they cannot comprehend.
The past is done and those I loved are lying still and sweet.
While I am here alone.
To fight and figure out
Those things I need to know.
Before it's late, my sun will be down, when
I can no longer walk and learn those things that have yet to come.
That are upon the path, which lays
Deep within the old familiar wood.
My palms would sweat. I’d get physically sick.
Why was I always the last one they’d pick?
There were times I would not be selected at all,
for a physical game, I was pretty darn small.
I watched as they’d point, whisper, and scheme;
avoid if they could choosing me for their team.
My Dad told me, “Son, God made you this small,
to prove it’s not height that makes someone tall.”
So, he set up a goal post, and bought me a tee.
He told me, “Success would be all up to me.”
I practiced my kicking whenever I could.
I worked very hard ‘till I got pretty good.
I’ll never forget that hot summer day,
tryouts for high-school to see who would play.
The teasing began as I stepped on the field.
My jersey so big, they laughed and they squealed.
The coach even grinned, as I heard him say,
“This is not a good sport for peewees to play.”
The practice was brutal, even more than I thought.
But then, towards the end, at last came my shot.
Coach explained how important a kicker would be.
Last season they had lost four games under three.
He placed the ball down on the thirty-yard line,
forty-yards from the goal I had claimed to be mine.
There must have been twenty or more who had tried,
all woefully short as the coach merely sighed.
With hands on his head he looked to the sky.
I was the last to step up and ask, “Can I try?”
Everyone laughed, ‘till he shouted, “Enough!”
then mockingly said to me, “Show us your stuff.”
As I carefully positioned the ball on the tee,
it seemed the whole world was laughing at me.
So, I called on the power that God will provide,
then glanced to a nod from my Dad on the side.
Three great big steps and my toe struck the ball.
I caught it just right. I knew how after all.
It seemed like slow-motion as the team stopped to stare.
The ball gently tumbled as if floating on air.
The looks on their faces I could never replace,
as it split through the uprights with plenty of space.
I looked towards my Dad now beaming with pride,
then turned to the coach with his mouth open wide.
Cheers were replacing the laughs I’d revered,
on the day that hard work overcame what I feared.
I went on to college and professional ball,
but that was the kick I enjoyed most of all.
I don’t think I’d ever have worked quite that hard,
if I wasn’t picked last on that old school yard.
The proverbial victim immortalized forever
Seeing Prince Charming when you gazed into his eyes, but, beyond your
delusion stood Satan himself fantasizing about how he was to devour your flesh.
Sibyl's true love for Dorian did not see deceit's nasty warnings.
Narcissistic Dorian could not be abated.
The torment of others didn't reach his conscience.
He craved only masturbation material for his wicked ego.
His evil heart overpowered all.
His sinister desires are all that ruminated through his diabolical mind
Loving Dorian only left Sibyl starving.
His heart was not capable of returning the undying devotion she felt for him.
He was no man.
Only a hollow shell, pretending to feel love while concealing his laughter for his
unsuspecting prey.
Loving Dorian only killed you.
He compromised your integrity
Stole your innocence
Taking from you what you could never retrieve
Just because he could
But, don't worry your pretty little head, Sibyl.
You will never be forgotten.
Especially by Sir Dorian Gray
Though I imagine that he would give anything to have a moment of peace from
the horrifying images of your tragic ending, for all eternity his thoughts will be
haunted by images of your ruby red blood, desperate cries and the contortion of
your dying body.
Sometimes he will think it is just a nightmare, but this is something from which
he will never wake.
He will pray for an ending to his torment, but his wish will never be granted.
Though ultimately Sibyl, you took your own life there is blood dripping from
Dorian's claws.
Evil must be punished like everyone else and that is the embodiment of Dorian
Gray's icy heart.
Now Dorian must cloak his own sins.
His evil soul destroyed himself and all those who had the misfortune to love him.
Though he salivated at the thought of his next conquest, time and time again,
Dorian's self hatred and inner demons engulfed him until he plunged into his
darkened abyss from which he will never escape.
His most unfortunate transgression of all was choosing to live a superficial
existence, choosing eternal youth and beauty over true love.
Sybil Vane was the only woman whose love was pure enough to rescue him.
Dorian will forever be tormented knowing that he obliterated his guardian angel,
the only one that could have saved him - from himself.