Long Common Poems
Long Common Poems. Below are the most popular long Common by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Common poems by poem length and keyword.
the stillness in you, Lord, is not the same,
the masses conformity just tried to numb the pain,
the click of the trigger warned my ears,
the follow of suit through the socials fears,
running in packs with no difference to see,
mimicking each others qualities,
for feelings of safety against insecurities,
holding back the different qualities you gave us to be,
in common is good to a certain degree,
but not when its patterns become too extreme,
judgement creeps up in these consistant ways,
to where their voices are constricted, and hearts lay at bay,
fear tries to step in with no rhyme or reason,
and the communication dies without sharing in season,
comfort without change, stuck in still,
the actions that become repetitive through safety's feel.
Former British colonies on the news
there's people, there's power and there's abuse,
scenes in India seem eerily familiar
as authority beats up those inferior
those sticks and shields shown in a past era
locals beating up local people
were the British really evil
Hong Kong has gone wrong,
keep fighting I say, stay strong,
scenes not seen under British rule,
when economies of these two flourished tall
Corrupt leadership in the USA
the very reason they got away,
a nation under rule of law,
let's see now the ruler fall,
through their English common law
Now Scotland seeks its independence
to us in England makes no difference
everyday Sturgeon a TV appearance
so if leaving the UK sees her disappearance
there will be no English interference
and Brexit, we're leaving the EU,
remain go boo-hoo,
I say woo hoo
we are leaving the EU
and our Empire doesn't seem so bad too,
true
I am your average Joe
In that I am unspectacularly unique.
Women are not turning their heads
To ogle my physique,
Nor are mothers hiding their babies’ eyes,
Fearful of my face they’ll catch a peek.
My accomplishments are many,
Though none to give me fame,
And if asked at a party,
No one would recognize my name,
Yet the few who do know me,
Respect me just the same.
I have a few traits shared by many men,
Stereotypically common of an American white male.
Raised in Anytown, United States,
In a family whose story one could not sell.
An upbringing quite familiar,
Similar to one thousands of others could tell.
And yet I have other traits that don’t quite fit the mold,
Interests and skills uniquely my own, or so I am told.
You have to get to know me, to see them for yourself,
They are not exactly on display like on a grocers’ shelf.
There are a few people who love me,
And a few others who do not,
But most if asked directly,
And put upon the spot
Would struggle for an opinion,
One way or the other, never giving it a thought.
If you took the time yourself to see,
And let an opinion inside you grow,
I am sure that you will find,
I am like no one else you know,
But if you had to describe me
You’d say I’m your Average Joe.
I make my way toward the light
when the world is trapped in the shadows,
when the future is looking dim,
when the rainbow that I pursue
is devoid of it's glistening pot of gold...
when darkness engulfs and blinds me
from common sense and insight,
from existential truth,
from what is fair and just.
So I embrace the light for...
it grants me succor
and peace of mind.
In trying days, I greet the light;
the bright moonbeam
penetrating an enduring darkness.
It finds and gives me strength
and courage to carry on
when I'm losing my war
against the powerful dark.
Let it find you, too.
Follow it. It's a guide for the lost,
for seekers of faith and enlightenment.
It never misleads, it always reveals truth.
It's the healing hand of God,
a symbol of everlasting hope,
a divine inspiration, a revelation.
Each day, it seeps into my heart
and opens my mind. It's a sign
of optimism that I revel in
and surrender to.
So embrace the light, too, my friend.
'Tis the warmth of the sun
after a frigid rainfall in winter;
God's mercy, a prayer answered.
I embrace it each day!
Submitted for...
Living Light Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
Date written: 03/14/2022
The Light Poetry Contest (Winner: 6th Place)
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
Date written: 12/05/2020
COMPANY PRIDE DIVIDED
THEM.
THEY THOUGHT
WHAT EACH
OTHER DID, WAS BEST
IF NOT BEST BETTER
THAN THOSE IN COMPETITION!
THEY RESEARCHED AND
FOUND THINGS TO BE TRUE.
THEY SOUGHT THUR DETAILS AND
FOUND THOSE FALSEHOODS THAT
WERE DEMONIC IN THEIR DETAILS, AND
MADE THINGS DIFFICULT FOR CLARITY.
THEY USED MYTHS TO SOLVE MYSTERIES.
AND FOUND WAYS TO MAKE RIGHT
SOME WRONGS.
WISER MEN SAID THEY WERE FOOLS.
FOOLISH PEOPLE SAID THEY WERE WISE.
COMMON FOLK APPRECIATE
WHAT THEY WERE DOING.
SOME COMMON FOLK, SOME SAW THEM
AS THOSE KINDA PEOPLE WHO DISTRACT
PEOPLE FROM THE REALITIES OF LIFE,
THAT THEIR WORKS,
WERE EXAGGERATED TO CONVINCE A WORLD
TO MAKE THEM SEEM LARGER
THAN WHAT THEY REALLY WERE !
BUT THEY WERE GREAT MEN!
THEY WERE CELEBRATED MEN!
THEY CREATED THEMSELVES
THRU THE EXISTENCE OF THE PAST
SO THAT THE ART OF BELIEVING
WOULD BE SEEN IN CLEAR VIEW
AND APPRECIATED!
I suppose the musings that I shall immortalize upon this page,
Will make it somewhat easy for folks to estimate my age.
But o'er the years it has become very plain to me,
That some things just ain't the same as they used to be!
The times they are a-changin', that I can understand.
Many dandy contrivances have overwhelmed the land.
Most are great for the conveniences that each brings,
But the things whereof I speak are common, everyday things
The lowly hamburger for example, has lost its old-time taste.
Today, you're served a thin, frozen patty prepared with haste!
Haircuts, neck shaves and powder were usual in a barber's chair.
Now, a "hair stylist" creates a disaster with my graying hair!
The cola I savored as a lad has lost its nose-tingling fizz.
A "new and improved" potable was brewed by some college whiz.
How I relished a milkshake made in a shiny Hamilton Blender.
Now, a soft ice cream concoction is the best they can render!
We've forgotten simple phrases like "thank you" and "please."
And "excuse me" used to be proferred with such gracious ease.
Now, I'm all for real progress, I most heartily proclaim,
But, consarn it! Too many simple things just ain't the same!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Under the mantle of night, dark and woven with cryptic gleams,
A dreaming artist finds his calling, a secret and eternal protest,
The words that escape his lips tear through the thick veil of conformity,
Defying all that is official, public, and nationalist,
For every murmur of his is a scandalous cry of pure truth.
In the diaphanous light of the moon, his soul becomes a spectral beacon,
Illuminating the uncharted paths of those who defy common norms,
Each gesture of his, a sacrifice the world deems insane,
For in following his inner light, the artist inevitably chooses... poverty.
He sacrifices all status for a crystalline dream that gleams enigmatically,
Renouncing all worldly comforts to embrace divine truths,
In the depths of his heart, an unseen flame burns, guiding him toward mystery,
Even though his path is paved with renunciations and profound loneliness.
In every canvas and musical note, in every melodic and melancholic verse,
The soul of an artist flows, a living, vibrant protest,
In the silence of the night, his calling becomes a sacred incantation,
A promise to live beyond the limits of materiality, in a world steeped in magic.
And perhaps, one day, he might even renounce his art, for a higher dream,
In the final accords and agonizing colors, he will defy the passage of time itself,
He will embrace nothingness and infinity, for his true calling is to be a beacon,
A guiding light, an invitation towards the hidden sublime of the universe.
Under the scattered brilliance of stars and the pale moon, his soul dances,
In a waltz of renunciations and revelations, a living and mysterious poetry,
For in every sigh, in every murmur of the artist, an eternal epic is written,
A protest against conformity, a call to the pure magic of hidden truth.
Sisyphus
A man, who by the fluke of nature
had lived for 500 years preaching
unity and peace
He used to ride on his white mule
from the village to the next people
listened to him and agreed also
Everybody wants peace when we
Get rid of so and so, we must be
ready to fight and kill the enemy
When modern times came, he went
around in a car and his audience
has grown worldwide
He is a secular saint
Looks like a Jewish scholar I met
in Copenhagen, playing the piano
Lately, he has been depressed; it
has dawned on him, man is not fit
For a peaceful life, strife is the glue
Binding us together in common
disharmony of righteousness and
the hatred that brings
It is a fact that we may live
within travelling distance
driving distance
walking distance
even spitting distance
from each other,
Yet, we may never meet
or see each other's faces
That's why, this might make us think
we have nothing in common with each other
as if we are the king or queen mother
Anyway,
if I'm mistaken, correct me please,
early or late, such a thought will most probably
become a disease,
We all have only one and unique thing in common
that's a one-syllable word
which bears everything we share;
So, tell everyone around you
to keep it in mind,
long before minds go blind
Walking becoming overcoming.
Orion becomes Jesus walking on water.
Trek trudge and stumble, taking it in stride.
Bearing a cross of torment and torture.
Struggling slogging shepherding,
slaving in blood mixed tears.
Walking through light and shadow.
Sleep meandering, dreams seamlessly
mingle with stumbling lumbering,
slumbering shamble, ambling ramble.
Roving roaming range, radius reached,
realms always remembered.
Walking the footpath through rainforest.
Sizzling amour fou ardor, fevered fervor.
Lascivious among the leaves,
captive to carnality.
Fleshly forbidden found only
in the taboo soil of impulses.
Walking in the aurora of first light.
Sprinting agape beneath spectral wavy prismatic sky.
Darting dashing driving toward a new day.
Racing rushing for radiant rays wrapping the horizon.
Igniting the dark, blazing the trail in a neonate morning,
advancing the awaiting adventure.
Walking with friends and lovers.
Parading promenading propelled plantigrade.
Globetrotting every continent, every consideration,
every awareness and attentiveness.
The common blanket sweeping overall.
Let the celebration of being begin.