Long Coincidental Poems
Long Coincidental Poems. Below are the most popular long Coincidental by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Coincidental poems by poem length and keyword.
Hold my head up to the top
Keep polishing my flimsy flop
Hold my mind tight to think straight
That with my brain, both in league, inflate
Hold my thoughts to meet meanings
On the road out of the tunnel's screenings
Hold my heart to sink deep inside Yours
And stop wandering in canals' cures
Hold my chest at peace with Thy paints
Even if I am not one of those saints
Hold my hand; a tool to ink clues
That can save dying souls of blues
Hold my ears hostage to insure my heart
Which build up every muse into an art
Hold my nose to perceive the ugly
To rub off dirt nature embraces snugly
Hold my eyes to see how trouble unfolds
But never possibly know how it moulds
Hold my mouth to shout hallelujah
How I am set free of Delilah's hysteria
Hold my tongue to the deep end of judgement
With You only can I make proper adjustment
Hold my oesophagus to silent movement
That draws nearer pantry's abandonment
Hold my stomach to the manna
Of abundance on my Savannah
Hold my office to good use
To avoiding coincidental abuse
Hold my legs to walk in glory
Growing greatness, not story
Hold my nails to keep steadfastness steadily
In the face of peace like war, beeping readily
Hold my back to get Thee, Thy backing
Through grace, in cracking poster(s) tracking
Hold my all and it will be noticeably sure
In You alone, oh Lord lies every echt cure!
Hold my faults onto the everlasting cross
No one else is worthy to take Thy place, Boss
Reprobate fictional schnorrer...
Who never did a lick of work
gifted lifelong entitlement,
yet possessed webbed wide world reputation
actually humble contemplative earthling
jump/kick started cosmic consciousness
as modest (née supreme)
unrivaled spiritual leader
with natural born talent
to resolve conflicts
without uttering a word,
he merely presented unspoken charisma,
when his bonafide dogma stirred
madding crowd awash
with conservative and liberal
unflagging political stripes
plus token long haired pencil necked nerd
anarchistic disruption (holy cow) seldom heard
except during amber alert
contrary to violence prone
human nature, how
out of simian character and absurd.
Honest to goodness effort witnessed
courtesy eyes of big brother,
which affected shout and twist
in life and hard times rendered tragic
of one odd longfellow
surname of Mister Quist,
who once upon a time esteemed
as hotshot dejure at NIST
(National Institute of Standards
and Technology at U.S.
Department of Commerce.
The NIST Cybersecurity Framework
helps businesses of all sizes
better understand, manage,
and reduce their cybersecurity risk
and protect their networks and data.
The voluntary Framework kissed
(figurative kosher blessing
fingers to mouth non verbal communication
to hush quiet riot
unrecognizable protagonist aforementioned -
convincingly disguised Rabbi)
despite blatant underlying anti semitism,
which unpleasant vulgar sound hissed
out the indecorous maw
of zealous white supremacist(s)
across the room of ornate Synagogue,
whereby security details
quickly silenced and ushered
unnamed, unhinged, uncivil...
evil incarnate odious louts,
who did unfortunately own right to exist.
Any resemblance between said divine mortal
(an avuncular good fella,
a handy dandy bare knuckle pacifist,
albeit harmless individual)
and living persons purely coincidental.
Embracing my retiring place
includes not only green and granite geographic dimensions
in space
But also extending back experienced roots
of 264 seasons past
having co-evolved this matriarchal wombing 2020 present
As if co-gravitation of historic time
with current place
were a creative pre-visioned design of space
dipolar co-arising deja-vu choice
to embrace, with coincidental love revivals,
or disgrace, with even more bipolar fear-mongering,
And usually something merely mortal
yet immortally cooperative
in-between what has been competitive Win/Lose explained
and what could become WinWin integrity
of exclaiming dance and song
Embracing my ego place,
How could that go wrong?
While not ignoring ecosystemic health
of this historic evolving space,
sacred integrity of revolving incarnations,
romantic race
toward multiculturing grace,
Withour fear's least merely secular
ZeroTrace.
I think I'll write a country song
about the weasel that 'done me wrong'
We'd have been married thirty years today
if he hadn't had a penchant to stray.
I got the pickup truck, so we'll leave that part out
but there's lots of other things I can whine about.
I can hit a few notes on this guitar of mine,
now I need to come up with some catchy line.
Country songs need to have a refrain,
something so catchy it'll stick in your brain.
They're all about liars and cheaters and such
and cheapskate dates who want to go dutch.
I'll make a fortune when my song's a hit.
My inspiration was my ex the ....jerk?
Yes, I think I'll write me a country song
about the weasel that 'done me wrong'.
I'll put in a verse about socks on the floor,
then casually mention his red-headed .... friend?
Maybe I'll say that he broke my heart
I'm still not quite sure where to start.
Most of what I write may even be true.
I could mention his cologne smells like... aqua velva?
Yes, I'm sure I can write one if I try.
It'll hit the charts and from there just fly.
I know I can write a country song.
Anyone can when they've lived this long.
We all have something twangy and sad,
something good in our past that turned out bad.
* any resemblence to actual events is purely coincidental
** and thanks Nancy for the blog that inspired this
There is only co-arising integrity,
integrity unfolds ubiquitously,
omnipresently, health potently
space and time's incarnating potential
inviting
resolving
regenerating multisystemic polyculturing networks
polypathic information webs
embodied network organic
strings of enculturing forming function
waving binomial binary bionic frequencies
toward more interdependent contentment,
less empty-evaporating contentiousness.
Form unfolds content-ment,
well-formed families and communities
avoid dysfunctional toxic content
by grasping its straining stressful mentoring voice
about not only which dispassions to avoid
but also why
and where to reset our pilgrimage rudder's tipping point,
sweet spot Trim Tab,
to comprehend when integrity-aversion overcompensates,
when avoiding karma's grasp
would trend toward our mutually neglectful dis-grace.
Tomorrow,
always tomorrow,
we might avoid competitive gasping
by grasping cooperative aversions to loss and dissonance.
(alternately titled ringleader Harris hooligan,
Hence, any resemblance
between characters port
rayed, and living persons
purely coincidental.)
Claim to fame creating
an overnight sensational
boom town explained
by lodestone of zinc
while the town
crier fast asleep
(until next to last 21st sentry
caught up on
much needed
protracted wink),
his dreams informed
him of a getaway,
whereat just
with mental power to think,
could render forth pour
favor riches aplenty
appearing once
one did awake
meanwhile oblivious
to encroaching hoodlums,
whom didst blithely slink,
(analogous to a
waltzing skater on a smooth
as glass ice rink,
whereat razor sharp blades
noiselessly sliced cold air
with an imaginary plink),
thus while one man guard
zonked out, sans steeped
in a glistening escapade
cuddling, nestling, and snuggling
with his pet mink
Hun dread scandalous vandals
(Atilla among them)
word less lee
located weakest linkedin chink
coalescing, comprising,
and constituting,
an otherwise excel lent access
duff fence sieve link
iron wrought chained
formerly mistakenly invincible
against a Trojan
Horse, now even
vulnerable to a dolled up,
decked out disguised rat fink,
slithering snake like afore
the zoned out patrol
did awaken and blink
only after invasion of swiftly
styled, harried tailored,
foo fighting beastie boys
ex post facto, when steely
dan sing motley crue
made discernible noise
far to late for the
"FAKE" Don to trumpet
successful "Stormy Daniels"
counter attacking ploys.
It is indeed non coincidental, the Universe is Mental
Leased ideas, hopes and dreams
Housed a priceless High rise rental
Landlord of various residency sardine packed Ideas and hopes born from dreams
Leaving behind the rowdy neighborhood, overcrowded situation
For a change, a self prescribed Poetic Alchemy Vacation
Retreat away from the noisy fray
Under a Pine cone tree for my short stay
Pen and Paper Therapy.
Cloudy visions with half baked decisions
Careless youth, Carefree
Avoiding limits past the sky
Sabotage to self when in illusions rely
How can one conceive a manifestation not perceived?
How can one want more without Gratitude for what have been already received?
A single flame of a candle can brighten the path
to words scribed on paper, a dying art
Battles with Self, who is the enemy ?
Take a look at yourself in the mirror and you will see
Both Angel and Demon need to be fed
Which will you feed the most
Host of light or harbinger of doom and dread
Within chaotic turmoil order is a balanced a scale
Necessary momentum like winds to a sail
Creativity born of Pain is the Great work
Intercourse with pen and paper therapy
Watering a planted seed
Soothing balm to crowded mind
Where thoughts manifest the actual deed
The art of Poetic Alchemy.
My partner called out cars she sent
as we stood at opposite ends
of the work zone, and when
hers had passed, I called out mine
sending them along a narrow passage.
We found a common language
to communicate, and we made
small talk when things were slow.
The construction crew struggled
to settle each fresh coat of asphalt
over a moist bed of clay
of a two-lane in northeast Nebraska
arcing and curving over hills and valleys
between two unincorporated areas.
Black angus cows grazed
on a grassy hill, coincidental beauty found
in another time and place,
and a bull bellowed
to declare the spread his own.
After work my partner and I stood
outside our rooms at the hotel.
She talked about her husband
and I talked about a librarian
who read my poems.
While we spoke about our
lives back home, a light in the lot
shone a distant star.
It all begins... for the end
Have you a need to fulfill?
The mind and body needs consent
If you know... nothing is new
Can you try... we always try
Yet...when are we ever good enough?
We knew the truth but we always lie
Is there a laughable time to outlast?
Do you know something I don't?
Does it mean we are special?
Will you say something I won't?
A happenstance... Is it coincidental?
To please someone today?
What does it mean for me tomorrow?
An ever changing relay
Do we expect for what follows?
We strive yet we deny
Beyond our endless versions of truth
One's truth to yet still lie
If only we believe to only believe we all lose
There you go,
back, far back into the woods once more.
I wish you knew the names of all these tree.
They are distant aunts, and old soldiers,
warriors of coincidental conflicts.
Blood soaked relations of relative ghosts
seen now only as points of departure
where tombs have been riven by lightning
or whole forests burnt to the ground
to a more fertile ash.
Names unknown but named in a book
rivers and reeds write
for later roots to unravel.
Fathers as old as the first horse.
Mothers who breast fed the slow dreams
of a humankind destined to plant her flag
upon a million fields of creation.
Yet more await, are nursed as new seeds
that glimmer in a shinning nebular.
Now I watch one lone child
pass through gorse, thickets, and briar,
travelling through its own forest
to be born into a family
that has yet to be named or branched.
Life lives and returns to find out why
again and again.
Reincarnated crucifixions
dot a new landscape each era,
vacations in Ohio last until
death stamps a later passport.
Sweat and blood in Thailand,
transforms into poetry.
A blind man digging his way through a city
mining for a treasure he was born with.
Back we will come
arriving from anywhere
and anyone.
Each deliverance a blessing
we had to uncover and acknowledge
as our own woodland mystery.
A place between sacred mountains and molehills
where the trees have yet to be labeled
or cutdown, and green growing offspring
with their little axes
getting duller and heavier each year
until the woods and all disappear
to follow the night-train
to where they will arrive at,
whatever platform we have
cobbled together or erected with prescient hands.
Then we claim our Kingdoms,
our many mansions, the many branches of us all.
As the cycle turn and spiral
again to return carrying a new child
as a gift of the light.