Long Chronic Poems
Long Chronic Poems. Below are the most popular long Chronic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chronic poems by poem length and keyword.
Slavery
enslavement
force of self-imposed ownership
overpowering another's ego-ownership,
anthro-morbid,
collective ego-morphic tolerance of identity rape,
fear and anger, together building hate,
from which enslavement derives;
a culturally camouflaged nondual co-arising relationship
of codependent despair,
self-hatred.
Enslaving force perpetuates Ego's full-blown angry reduction
in self-identity,
deduction of self,
as someone who could "own" another's Ego-healthy will
for equivalent freedom from my freedom
to enslave another's life,
exterior and interior.
Slave and poverty development owners
internally enslaved by our own hypocritical hubris,
swimming upstream into economically encrusted perpetuation
of cognitive and affective dissonance,
chronic anxious homelessness,
hopelessness that I cannot afford to be more co-empathic,
healthier on my own,
than we are together
on Earth's owner-ship.
Those nations,
corporations,
families,
individuals
addicted to retaining
and further developing
vastly disproportionate wealth deposits,
divorced from our own cooperative health and well-being investments,
not only steal from those without enough to thrive,
but also slink away from our own collective mental health,
anxiously fearing freedom's inevitable reparations,
struggling to repress awareness of nondual codependent enslavement
into entropic death of species.
Hatred combines anger about past with fear of future.
"Anger Management" politics might choose a more transparent therapeutic label,
"Hatred Co-Arising Suppression".
Decomposing hatred first breathes through "I am Anger,"
listening for Time's healing simmer,
then decomposing anger about past violations
to embrace rational fears of deadly toxins
enslaving equitable prospects for a healthy future.
It feels healthy to remember we are Anger
with ourselves
and with each other
before,
without sustaining against ourselves or others,
perpetuating enslaving hatred
for mental health stolen from those without sufficient wealth
to thrive
to feed
our own unhealthy enslaving greed.
Dispirited slavery imposes greedy unnatural ownership,
dreadful wealthy lust for power
co-arising with holistic health's decreasing power,
globally and personally,
without as within.
Very bad karma,
total lack of grace,
not our way to Win-Win race.
survivors
The captain called up the harbor authorities needed a birth a ship no one had heard of, but its manifest stated Sydney-bound
They let the ship birth on a disused pier far from the city to the disappointment of the crew who had wanted to go ashore.
When the pilot left, he was pale and shaken, felt as if he had been talking to the ghosts through layers of yesterdays
The official from shore found quantities of cigarettes and whiskey products that had been illegal for the last sixty years in the chief steward store, marijuana was legally good for the health if smoke smoked in moderation.
The crew was arrested and sent to a camp for interrogation, but it was clear when brainwashed that not even water torture helped, no one knew
the time of the day
The crew was getting older, first slowly, then rapidly. Zimmer frames everyone
to look after men who could no longer walk
and many were incontinent and suffering from advanced Alzheimer
disease and chronic heart failure; worse, the chief steward had stopped singing “My cast Sua Casa.”
No wonder Europe was a squabbling backwater and
the USA had broken up into many countries, Spanish
was the national language
One morning, nurses found skeletons, dark in cor and
like waterlogged wood thrown ashore by an irate
storm and onto the strand of time.
At the same time, the ship the crew came in sank and broke into pieces of rusty iron.
There were rumors in Sydney about the aliens Those who knew were forbidden to speak, and experts could continue to talk about how a ship sank so suddenly and disappeared in the sea of the Bay of Bengal
was buried in a led coffin for saying
the obvious: Do not interfere in our lives.
The good news is for the Islamists, Israel
has gone forever
they are now free to cut their own throat
Please tell the world — pain is real,
It doesn’t vanish, it doesn’t heal.
Some may smile and say “you’ll mend,”
But this is a war that will never end.
Chronic pain doesn’t come-and-go,
It’s in your joints, it’s all you know.
It lingers in silence, behind each breath,
A quiet shadow that mimics death.
Debilitating, crushing, it’s stolen my days,
In a thousand relentless, invisible ways.
You can’t see the fire under my skin,
Or the war I fight deep within.
Every step burns, my legs scream in pain,
I cry out loud without refrain.
I can’t stand long, can’t walk far—
I measure my strength by how close things are.
Because you can’t see it, you think it’s a lie—
But I cry every day just trying to get by.
Change a lightbulb? Mop the floor?
Fold the laundry? Go to the store?
I can’t do those things—not anymore.
Don’t tell me to smile, or “just take a walk,”
You haven’t lived pain that makes breathing a shock.
Every joint, every muscle I own
Feels like it’s made of fire and stone.
My hands are twisting, my fingers betray,
A glass I could hold, now slips away.
Inflamed, swollen, this body of mine
Hunched over and twisted, pain in my spine.
What’s left, I ask, please God, help me.
I can’t take anymore, I cry on one knee.
No work, no help, no one near,
No voice that says, “I’m here. I hear.”
Most days I wonder what I’m still living for—
No message, no knock, no one at the door.
No family that calls just to say “hi,”
No one would notice if today I did die.
I slowly disappear with each passing day,
And pray for a reason—just one I should stay.
So please tell the world be gentle, be wise,
Not every battle is seen by the eyes.
We fight in silence, we grieve alone,
Inside these bodies that feel like stone.
A little kindness, a hand to lend—
Could be the reason someone won’t end.
This isn’t a story of pity or plea,
It’s just a truth—please, listen to me.
Please be kind in what you do and the tone that you speak,
You don't know who might be fractured and weak.
One gentle act could help someone today—
One cruel word might take them away.
We are all just moments from breaking apart...
So lead with compassion. It could save a heart.
I don’t write this for feed back or reaction
as it's not my need too feel satisfaction
I haven't invested nor look to progress
I'm just restless with rhymes ink press
them to an instrumental that's all
not a fool seeking approval to go professional
I don’t see or hear responses
your thoughts are not on my conscience
I dont care if you hate it or like it
it's all cheese to me grated or sliced bits
tastes the same on pizzas after ovens melt it
just a dried up felt tip impolitely
drawing on the wall your boring common ite-ey
the world gave me a crippling anxiety
which has removed me from society
if you want to see me act uncomfortably
all you need is to say a compliment to me
Cus me and you are completely apart
you need them while I stay apart
I'm just messing because technology is at hand
but I'm sure this pastime is hard to understand
I sit at home writing for therapy
spared a want to care what they think of me
Everyday alone blind never lose a blink of sleep
opinions they pin on me stay unseeked
I just ink in my seat to sooth my heartbeat
so you’re a fool if you think it’s done for approval
I ain’t like you I ain’t usual
so to think I want feed back
when I dont need that
if given an elevated social status
I'd evacuate free to a place more spacious
however to the 2 faces who were loyal undoubtedly
but quick to doubt and skip out on me, skidaddle
once a friend revealed as a traitor
see you later mate aint worth hating
I've awakened to truth stated
plus your company's overrated
so don't come with me or after
after friendship breaking cus if I'm not mistaken
you said to everyone I make up stories
the blagger of Bath known for blagging bad on the ordinary
blagging like a bag carries baguettes in France
saying I'm mentally unstable while you compulsively lie
and I've quit chronic while you're still on it daily
5 years ago I quit yet I'm bonkers well maybe
yet plonkers believe how you describe me so clearly
I'll never forgive you for saying I make things up
we were like family and you totally mucked it up
After required Thanksgiving Day
and depressing night
I awoke surprised
by release into ego-homelessness.
What could sad night despairs mean?
Reiterating loss of grateful identity
mysteriously disappearing through this habitat's coldly absent roof
of sacred grace
space.
Why would capital depression,
RightBrain suppression
and historic patriarchal suppression
suddenly gang up more gracefully,
less threateningly,
on ZeroZone ego-homelessness
freely chosen
before rudely thrown out
for lack of paternal place.
RightBrain fullness of soul
remains ZeroZen timeless re-identification
with one empty homeless side
without exterior shelter.
But, for how long could eternity reweave
temporary housed DNA souls
becoming Earth's healthy resilient lifeline?
Advent invites homeless nurturing adventures
into matriarchal kindness, silent advances
into wildly blind blizzards
binding sun's enchanting rainbow promise
watering returns to Earth's temporary spring sanctuary
refueling DNA's homeless
yet robust
absence of perpetually living boundaries
Toward, rather than against, Earth's healthy wealth
future identity transgenerating
transubstantiating temporary sanctuaries
in humane health-identity space,
Earth's co-arising sacred time
of ego's non-sectarian summer
for ecology's ecstatic climate climax.
Mutually homeless failing falling theology pilgrims,
EgoYang and EcoYin polypathic souls
overshadowed
by Earth's great green sanctuary
assigned to re-study timeless regenetic root systems
playing WinWin ZeroSoul revolutionary games
for homeless trusted identity, sheltering
from wildly wounded wandering
within chronic asylum anxiety,
Lost in lonely inside forests
quaking,
outside breaking
patriarchal fake-sanctuary voices
inside cooperative matriarchal wombing choices.
A lot of cold windy Dad talk
trumped
in each infant WinWin womb
by Mom's resolute inside nutritional walk.
Homeless ego child
re-connecting inside this eco-womb,
preparing to journey home again
by sacred light of wintry advent's dawn
After thanksgiving days
and depressing night
re-awakening surprise
of ego's wandering
health-rooted adventurous soul
revolution dawning in darkest brights.
All is quiet
as I exit through the Emergency Entrance
at the local hospital.
I notice a black T-shirt
with a pink ribbon logo
announcing in bold green script
"No one fights alone"
Due to context
I'm guessing we're talking about fighting cancer;
harm taking us away
from health care giving and receiving
we would all prefer
while walking out of,
rather than lying in,
any Emergency Entrance.
But, I am a theologian
by training
and practical parenting experience,
so I'm thinking,
Why do we not also wear T-shirts
reminding each other
"No one loves alone"
Or even
"No one loves to fight alone"
or even just among ourselves,
within our own households
and habitats.
I ponder my way back to humble Yaris,
with automatic electronic nothing,
and on the radio I hear clusters of fighting themes:
mental illness
domestic violence
gun violence
automated weaponry
military fear and threat stress-testing, enduring, stretching, growing
hazing as baptism through alcohol
depression and repression and suppression
acclimation to chronic climates of terror
and quiet climates of ever more dissonance
lack of healing sleep
anger management
fear mismanagement
mutual assured destruction (MADness)
diplomacy by threat and RightWing arms sales
military industries
applied increasingly to personal and domestic disarray,
local terrors,
households
and habitats
going up in flames
flowing under floods...
No one fights alone
just as no one loves peace alone,
and health
and ecological wealth
and ego-resilience
and eco-systemic balance,
harmony,
synergy.
No one can sustain love
while violently fighting
just as no one can sustain this fight
for climates
and cultures
and ecologies
and theologies of health
by thinking we are
admirable
or somehow credible
or even possible
sorting through
and choosing Love alone.
As I exit my car,
now home,
I think
My T-shirt would probably be too wordy,
No one loves to fight disease
and unease
alone.
Especially not God
or Allah
or Patriotic Loyalty to Earth
or wherever we find our
remember to Love messages.
All is quiet
as I re-enter our home.
I seem to be,
in this moment,
alone.
We each sacrifice chronic lives and critical moments,
plotting against those we must become engaged with,
like moths enlightened by burning bushes
rooted in hypnotic holy compost,
watered by fears and laughing tears,
inviting redemption's mutual sacrifice of ego
to balance eco-lateral economic life.
Earth's meaningful
radically inclusive
vocation.
Take off our shoes!
Shields of harsh and hard immunity,
blocking intuitive holonic light-eternal
icons of time's spreading revolution.
Free ourselves from bondage
to competitive economics,
irrationally unbalanced
rush-away ego-competitions.
Slow down this inhumane trauma
to catch up with healing ourselves,
with where we all came from,
with how we all optimally
and ultimately share global polyculturing
smooth-souled orthopraxis,
redeeming our future win/win investments
inherited from diverse Elder progenitors'
eyes and hearts and lungs
inhaling this slower
kinder
cooperative economy,
mindful,
compassionately interdependent
networking trees
of well-shaded life.
Sankofa!
Go back through spacetime to retrieve
nourishing power-enculturing riches
through shaman's natural systemic lens
of wise peace and cooperative justice,
healthy love and wealthy faith,
hope through positive being,
becoming fully incarnate,
fully alive,
Eden's Climax Community,
unfolding within each coincidental moment,
each economic subsidiary life,
each evolving Earth element,
each resonantly reverberating
eco-logical paradigm.
Owl wisely reverses her bilateral receptors,
reminding
rewinding nature's spirited tao systems
of fine-feathered diametric regeneration.
3/31/21
Stoner
Loner
An addict
Always at it
The chronic
Still on it
Can't get off it
Or stop it
On top of it
A serious alcoholic
The problem
Is constant
And toxic
Causing conflict
Being honest
Often catatonic
Nearly unconscious
Shoutout to Juice Wrld, "everywhere I go feels haunted"
"This isn't the life I wanted"
Damn it
Battling habits
Bringing me closer to a casket
Using gadgets
And tablets
During daylight or pitch blackness
It's gone beyond
Doing my body and bank account a lot of damage
Even if I manage to "manage"
It does me no advantage
And is extra baggage
Dirt I dug and shoveled
Remaining humble
People quick to burst your bubble
In ways that are obvious or subtle
On the double
Staying out of trouble
Even though it's a jungle
Got to solve each and every puzzle
Can't buckle
Even though I continue to struggle
Been far too dependent
Temporarily splendid
But really unpleasant
The cycle has not ended
Eventually the heart stops beating
When it comes to death, there is no cheating
The night of notorious orchids
speaks in faltering bioluminescence,
hurling ricochets of rhapsody
through conch-shell chaos,
like gothic mantras
rising from wounded waves,
carrying salt-soaked roses
into the face of interstellar inferno ~
an unsettling
illustration of internal paralysis…
I am scarlet-scarred frost,
crestfallen in silent disarray,
like an avalanche ~ already torn,
consumed in chronic emptiness,
collapsing into
compulsive numbness,
unable to voice the truth,
shattered by the last dying breeze
that smothered my will
to believe ~ to rise ~ to dream…
But, am I to be crowned with blame,
laced in regret and shame,
while the mirror mirrors
a pulse that pains in self-isolation,
a soft-spoken sabotage,
fearing every familiar flicker
of fragranced starlight,
questioning the silk
and silver on moon-rivers,
for even the beauty of love feels
like temporary treachery,
betraying bouquets of constellations…
And I communed with soul’s serpents ~
they know the hollowness
of this splitting madness…
Must I perish
in a catacomb conscience,
where the mind gaslights grief,
manipulating melancholy
like a widow’s deathless elegy,
as if I were no poet ~
with a mourning riddle,
bleeding ballads
through blistered thistles ~
the anatomy of a heart
abandoned and forgotten
in its own crypt of catharsis…
My lines are sharp like a mallam's dagger
my lines are long like dreadlocks, a mad man's dada
my lines have the suspense, they can hit you like a stray bullet
my lines knows love, they beat romeo and Juliet.
My lines are wild like nursing lines
my herbal, they can cure your loneliness
my lines are uncontrolled, like a rampaging tempest
but my lines are unique ,they remain the very best.
My lines can be dirty like a "IGBUDU" gulta
my lines are soothing like a Spanish guitar
my lines are tempting like a naked virgin
my lines are hot like your local dry gin.
My lines are breath taking like a chronic atsma
my lines flow with pure undiluted charisma
my lines can be shocking like a high tension voltage
so sit back and accept comfort like a cold porridge.
(c) ferd's poetry
edoja faith
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