Long Circulate Poems
Long Circulate Poems. Below are the most popular long Circulate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Circulate poems by poem length and keyword.
I appreciate
That these two can be served separate
Or mixed together to create
A drink that is first rate.
Who isn't passionate
About coffee and chocolate?
My brain starts to pulsate
As the coffee percolates
It detonates
A heavenly aroma that I anticipate
And contemplate.
The chocolate
Squares sit on a silver plate.
I don't exaggerate!
I drop a smooth square piece of dark chocolate
In to the hot tan creamy liquid which doesn't
Take long to circulate
Through as I stir, my mouth salivates.
I drink. My taste buds dilate,
My body vibrates
And I evaluate
Whether I should share this with my mate.
Oh! Wait.
He likes his coffee straight.
How unfortunate.
Finally, my blood began to coagulate,
I really did not think this would eventuate.
But now there’s hope I will not exsanguinate,
because I feel my blood now hemagglutinate.
Remain in my blood vessels and just circulate
perfusing all my organs and accelerate
my wellbeing so I’ll not deteriorate
Instead, my condition will reinvigorate.
So, I will live another day to celebrate
the fact, that I should see another birthday date.
Not be a statistic for mortality rate
by bleeding to death, failing to resuscitate.
Please, let this be a lesson not to overstate
the survival secret one must not lacerate
an organ that could bleed out and necessitate
the need then for your blood to just coagulate
The mind is like a system, it has to flow, if it is caged, it gets clogged.
Clogged and hurting it finds a way to release the pressure of the pain or joy it wants to send.
Like thoughts and hurts and happy moments, they want to be out there and feeling grand.
So, like a clog in the drain, our body needs to move and circulate with our own special way of self-regulating.
So, remember if you are in pain, if you have stress, release it in ways that will bring you calm.
Sometimes we can get relief by our favorite sports, like walking, running, or swimming.
Sometimes we pray and release our thoughts in our prayers.
Mind clog can make life hard, so learn self-regulating, and make all your days work like a charm.
I hope my rhyme gives you some thoughts on clogs and self-regulating through this life.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
One moment to be
This moment I breathe
Put on glasses & glance to see
As I say I'm sweating success &
decree
Woahw,they be looking for
faults
I'm choking over their words
Charge me with herts not volts
This mind is for goodness God
molds
Now Of late I barely see my
path
I was on a quest to finding
Thabo
But he was locked in a cage of
wrath
Living dark-light from sorrow
I feed this seed within my soul
I circulate this hallow doubtful
hole
I consist of fire from life's hard
coal
This heart is iced up as south
pole
Criticized like some public
opinion poll
Success is my only option
Failure's not
Not "gentleman"-he went for
adoption-I now take the big
shot.
prosperity & I are tying the knot
No love in my life's court
As long as there's breathe
within this simple body
I shall lose myself through lights
with Phalodi
I'll find myself in aftermath's
recovery
Then Testify of this path as a
new discovery
I lost fate
But still I remain great
So I seek no mate
losing me Is a gate
Leading me to escalate
..To a new golden state
Home from a chemo session, uncle lights up
a cigarette and collapses
to the slick plastic that covers your chaise
lounge, auntie. He thumps the upholstery
with his legs and elbows for blood
to circulate again. A flake
drifts. Dehydrated lips, uncle
inadvertently kisses ash. Cushions
puff up, deflate. Uncle floats
smoke rings to prove he still has breath.
Your bulbous urn ruptures his rings
on contact where curvature
casts uncle’s warped reflection, all mouth and smoke,
as he would rise to reach your urn on the mantle.
Uncle slouches back, watches his sports channel.
I head out with his hamper
and forget to check pockets before washing clothes,
his soggy receipts - - once grocery lists? - -
and tissues, torn apart, clumped up, fake snow
I have to scoop out of washing machines.
Absent-minded tasks at the laundromat, auntie,
where you’d bend in pain. Lint trays reinstall
fluff. I snap
and snap airborne dryer-flakes off towels.
If you find it difficult to re-adjust,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to re-boot,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to re-circulate,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to re-direct,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to re-educate,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to referee,
you will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to re-generate,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to re-hire,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to re-kindle,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to re-iterate,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to remind,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to re-negotiate,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to re-open,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to re-position,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to require,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to re-run,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to re-surface,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to return,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to re-unite,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to find Rex,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to be you,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find it difficult to re-zone,
You will find it difficult to be.
If you find this difficult to read,
You will find it difficult to be.
Majestic White Mountains surround me, I travel the curvy road
They call this road the ‘Kanc’ for short, where panoramic views are sowed
Green valley’s lay beneath me, with rivers in the ravines quite deep
The slate gray rocky cliffs I pass by, look like murals, slopes are steep
A patchwork of color blankets the far reaching, lush, mountainside
Where white puffy clouds circulate around the top, floating to hide
Amidst the pines, the clean air I breathe is cool, refreshing and clear
I pass by turn out spots for viewing and hiking trails everywhere
In the fall you will find the old man who sells apples at his stand
Where you can try different kinds or buy some cider he has on hand
In the winter, the snow paints the mountains and trees a shining white
Where fallen flakes and ice crystalize everything there is in sight
The State Forest is nearby where people visit, the wildlife roam
I view all this with gratitude, to live where mountains are my home
Heidi Sands
8/9/17
*Placed 4th in the contest: Mountains
The issue's not yet signed and sealed.
Three cogent answers hold the field,
and no-one knows which is the best.
I'll set them out before you, lest
the question go a-begging.
First
(and this one's frequently rehearsed,
but holds least clout - at least with me),
the Mason-Dixon Line must be
the great divide: South, slavery,
North, freedom. Dixon, Dixie - see?
The trouble is that way back when
those two unstinting Englishmen
surveyed the Line, none under heaven
(we're talking seventeen sixty-seven)
could care a cuss if blacks were pressed
to toil unpaid at whites' behest.
And Delaware, by no means least
of slaving states, lies north and east
of said divide.
Manhattan, now:
though it may try to disavow
a past that wasn't quite PC,
New York had sloughs of slavery.
A Mister Dixie held some lands
(right where the Guggenheim now stands):
the human property he owned
led folks to talk of "Dixie's Zone"
whenever slaves were being mentioned,
and gradually, by extension,
this came to mean the South. Could be.
Pursuing perspicuity
is noble in itself, and so
I offer as my final throw
the one which really should have won
(who measures merit, though, by fun?)
Louisiana, sovereign state,
sought (sensibly) to circulate
its very own banknotes. Problem was,
the Cajun cash collapsed, because
nobody trusted it. Each bill
was written in (for good or ill)
official French, so - quelle caprice! -
each sawbuck said, not ten, but "dix".
Thus, Dixie's fixed in every brain
as something quaint, quixotic, vain.
Open you hands to receive life's gifts.
Open your eyes to see life's opportunities.
Open your heart to receive life's love.
Let your energy flow freely
to circulate positivity and newness.
Open your channels to relieve
stagnation and stasis.
Keep the flow constant ...
Regulate your thermostat...
Constant energy -
Constant stream -
Constancy -
Steady flow -
Grow in fluidity
Tidal development.
No pools of sludge or slurry.
Clear waters of constant, perpetual
forward motion....emotion ....
Freeflow...freefall....freedom...
The momentum of moment
leading to magnitude of existence
and safe arrival at serenity.
A beautiful night
In the blue skies I die
Why I try to better your cries
A beautiful night
In the truth I strive
For what I realize
In this beautiful night
A halo of dreams
It all comes to end
And when my balance offends
My decisions to blend
There is no escape to pend
Whether or whether not I bend
To mend with days of disbelief
The failures I achieve to circulate and lead
The hemp around my neck may bleed
And when I have found my peace, I leave
Keep my determination at my sleeves
The facts at the end of my beard I scratch
My spirit and soul seem to be at a mitch-match
At twenty-two it’s a catch
The cache is you’re twenty-two
Which means it resides within you
The memories of the holidays I wished to pursue
Broken news is nothing new
Ever shall I do
Emotions are a motive
Purposely affiliated with going unnoticed
When on all your desires you seem to only focus
And against the wind
You assume you can maneuver some hocus pocus
To become a Brutus locust
You assume you can shoulder us
Out of proportion you can only folder trust
Hold out for a colder thrust
I told her I must
Her own passion out sold her for lust