Long Commonalities Poems
Long Commonalities Poems. Below are the most popular long Commonalities by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Commonalities poems by poem length and keyword.
Where does it begin?
Is it in the DNA?
Is it in the foundational structure?
Is it through skin conformity families?
Is it through children's cartoons?
Is it through confirmation bias?
Is it through popular music?
Is it through the foods we eat?
Is it through the idols we idolize?
Is it through the complex nature of our history?
Is it emblematic in our very flag?
Is it through statues glorifying the past?
Am I damned to hate my brother because his skin doesn't match mine?
Or am I free to love my brother despite our difference in pigmentation?
Everybody always asks
Where does it begin?
But nobody asks...
Where does it end?
The truth is simple
It ends when we do not deny our differences
But when we accept and celebrate them
While also rejoicing over commonalities
And recognizing our shared destiny
On this blue planet in space
Where does it end?
It ends with you
It ends with me
It ends with us
A Gemini artist married to a Libra mathematician?
This will end badly, a relationship that defies regal ambition.
The naysayers laugh for we are opposite in many ways.
I can lose myself in my work and paint canvasses for days.
My libra mathematician likes statistics, it is his powerful tool.
I cannot understand algebra, statistics once made me a fool.
But we eat our beef, mashed potatoes with warm bread.
And we do not talk shop, so our marriage moves along ahead.
A Gemini artist married to a Libra mathematician is insane.
But we have been married for over fifty years so this is plain.
Although I despise math, and he does not cartoon, paint or sing.
We have many commonalities, and laugh at the same thing.
We raised three daughters who understood the beauty of this.
Depending upon the problem, they sought answers for their bliss.
Asking the Gemini when playing and whimsy was the answer they wanted.
If it was a logic question or a math problem, for Daddy they hunted.
Throughout the animal kingdom,
There are commonalities, don’t you think?
One of the strongest among them
Is an inborn maternal instinct.
She wouldn’t leave her litter
To go outside and save herself;
Instead she stayed beside them
And barked and howled for help.
He rushed into the burning building,
Not sure of what he’d find;
The smoke and fire very thick,
Making him practically blind.
He followed a path to the sounds
Of the barking, howls and yelps;
Being a dog owner himself,
He knew he had to help.
He found them in the laundry room;
A mother dog and her six pups.
He used an empty laundry basket
To pick the newborns up.
She stayed close to his side
As he led them out of harms way;
He checked out each of her little pups
To make sure they were okay.
Sometimes we wonder if animals feel
The same emotions that we do;
The lick she planted on his face
Sure felt like gratitude.
Throughout the years this fireman
Had rescued many souls,
But the rescue of this dog and pups
Is the one he most often told.
NOTE: In verse 5, instead of "mother dog" I wanted to use the accepted term for a
mother dog - "b_tch", but PS would not accept that word - damn, I mean darn!
I knew two twenty-somethings who
had been soul mates since age sixteen.
The commonalities that drew
them to each other were quite keen.
They relished great old movies, those
with lively song-and-dance routines.
On weekend nights, they sometimes chose
to join in Fred and Ginger scenes.
Before long, “Singin’ in the Rain”
became top choice. One time when they
were watching—Don’t think I‘m insane
when I tell what transpired that day!
As unpredicted raindrops fell
and matched those on the tv screen,
the cute young couple could not quell
the urge to reenact the scene.
Outside, quite wet, they’d morphed into
the movie’s Don and Kathy. While
they sang and danced, they bid adieu
reality in their own style!
Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers
“Singin’ in the Rain,” sung by Gene Kelly (Don)
Kathy, Debbie Reynolds
Winter came with its usual cold, rain, ice, snow, and pain. By late Winter and early Spring, COVID-19 was spreading like wild fire. Late Spring and early Summer brought us added pains and social unrest. The Summer season was in full swing with waves of heat, fire, and wind storms. By then it seems that life had turned into a nightmare with a feel of the twilight zone.
Never more truer it seemed that real life depiction was far stranger than fiction. I'm use to Autumn rain, falling of leaves, colors that leave me breathless. I treasure the sight looking East to behold the snow-capped mountains of the High Sierras. I suspect and anticipate that all such commonalities are on the horizons, but after all the terror of this year's
prior seasons, I find it difficult to wait; so I think I will start dreaming.
I'm dreaming that Autumn will give me nature's fog and not the smoky kind. I'm dreaming that Fall will give me rain briefly followed by sunlight and rainbows. I'm dreaming that like years gone by, for just a while, I will need neither AC nor heater. I'm dreaming of a Halloween of love, light, child
laughter; not creepy, vicious, and dark fearful nights. I'm dreaming of a Thanksgiving filled with feasting, family fun, and giving of thanks to The Lord. I'm dreaming that this Autumn portion of the hurricane season will call it a day and cease its devastation and destruction. Even though I tend to forget about the contents of most of my dreams, I still want to dream. And who
knows? Maybe I'll dream about newly harvested apples, walnuts, and pecans. Anyway, this is my Autumn dream, and there is absolutely nothing fictional
about dreaming about everyday Fall realities. And one last thing before I prepare for my Autumn dream sleeping. I can dream if I like, and I'll be dreaming that I will not be charged nor taxed for dreaming.
101720PSCtest, Autumn, Francine Roberts. NA
I
I the great leader of Africa,
A true revolutionary of the pan African struggle
The acquitter ’s blood I enjoy, in the tears and sweat
Of the peasantry, I stroke and baptize all descendants
I the great dance of poverty rhymes, mambo in the melodies
Of the howls, mourning and weeping of the ancient and infantry
I the prodigious leader of liberation skirmish
Who can sojourn me? Who can rheostat me?
I for one the predecessor of soil they are sons to
Neither death nor era stances my way
I am greater than the commonalities. My voice,
Is a sword that incisions with both ends
Remind me my accountabilities and see the morning sun
I slay in any angle age nor gender despise you are mine on not
I am Malta all my age mates are departed, bereavement
Took them to their ancestors as I animate to demonstrate my supremacy
In the heights of Nyanga flora and fauna trembles the echoes of my voice
My word is the judiciary I am the law the rule is me.
I the forebear of peoples, leader of a race
As black as my skin is my heart
Only bullets can confiscate my Crown
Ballots reinforces I myself and radicalize thy
I enjoy their pitiful demonstrations peace rains on me I their reigns
Their pursuit for freedom springs me hopefulness in my livelihood
Their pursuit for justice decorate the shields an medals of my great success
Where ever they are, my ancestors are gratified, my comrades are awe-struck
This is what they suffered for in the thick forests of our land,
Oppression, poverty and suffering and injustice, a fight amongst us
I a revolutionary who enjoys dressing every newborn in
Jewelry, jewelry of chains in hands and leg irons
To the rich paint them gold, my patriots and commissars
I get them aluminum chains.
This is my story I the great leader of liberation revolutionary
A devoted pan Africanist and a leader of race
Miss your dread I be defeated my legacy, stay forever frightened
The wood is stacked for winter.
One way out of the mind's limitations
is through other minds' contemplations.
The books are stacked for winter.
Yet even that cannot satisfy.
Failing to hold still for meditation
my teacher smiles, makes this observation:
The purpose of sitting's not to be satisfied
or satiated. Remain hungry,
cold, uncomfortable and counting enemies.
These, and fear, are our commonalities,
and the discipline of not hitting whenever angry.
You'll appreciate dying
quietly at home. Whichever season has been randomly assigned will be beautiful
as ever
as a molecule of water is to all matter.
"In my life there were always too many things."
If there is no time, only change
the linear becomes circular.
Do not say north or south. You're
within the winter range
of chickadees, hawks, owls and herons.
River grapes, rose hips, the cedar waxwings'
repast. Their talk is my reminding
change outlasts endurance.
A beauty holds onto character
The true nature of humanity
For love not defined but put to act
Seeing within mind's outer intention
Inner circle persuading pleasant passion
A tree:- South, North, East and West
Driven by disturbing breeze yet stands
For all cardinal points to visit her head
Blowing to cool down hot atmosphere
Her people pass promptly cum production
A pretty parade pushing entertainment
Staged with value to beautify her heritage
By which hands clip onto another for feelings
In awe to how butts tune up beats' flows
Gearing unstable legs of others to cheers
A diverse language scattered throughout
Growing up so fast wishes to unite all
For understanding to relate differences
Today, it makes us a fantastic awesome one
By Western favor she can't but appreciate
A view of different ages ago without war
Excellent duties get her really stand out
Out of every possible trouble loading faults
To energize forces against herself for once
Not until discovery channel White to her castle
A fortunate lady open to observation
As to the need to let go of the ships
Whereas, some captains never depart
Building another some more ships here
Indirectly to teach her and have her heart
A great significant lady for improvement
Who keeps tailoring running future
To learning check on elementary days
Of Modern world turning culture around
Yet lose not the beauty of her call: dignity
Celebrating African day: the diversities and commonalities that unite us as one
I once wrote a POTW, getting to know you, was the theme
Simple little rhyme, about soupers commonalities it seems
Now I’m discovering disparity, divisions, different schisms
Joining the dots together, one picture emerges, extremism
A few (leading lights), have gathered sheep into their pens
Who in turn follow them blindly, to anywhere and back again
None of my business you say, and I would be first to agree
But our paths must cross sometimes, as now you can see
Such is lies, such is truth, it’s all immaterial within a poem
A story is a story, our imagination counts, on bringing home
I manipulate words, trying to imbue you within stark verse
Encouraging open-mindedness, never planning to coerce
Others have hidden agendas, encoding influences of ambition
Deluded in their own self importance, to maintain recognition
Suppressing freethinkers, using propaganda, covert pretexts
Don’t like the tone of your language, get shunned by request
Teach us a lesson, an opinionated authority, waves a big stick
Seen this crap before in institutions, got caned as a small kid
Gaslighting, solipsistic, narcissistic, torchbearers of nothing
Pushing your own egos, not poets work, shameless plugging
Some fellow poets do fall foul, getting led up the garden path
Instead of expressing independence, write to appease wrath
So this message is from a nobody, and I’m calling you to task
Why! because I have a pair of balls, not satan behind a mask.
This is no exposé, majority of soupers, see through your cover
Easy now, I won’t mention any names, best ignore this nutter
I proffer diversity and conversation, no nihilistic atheist stray
Unlike his predecessors, won’t get disheartened or walk away
Look at history what happened, when pandering to dictators
Carrying swastikas in suicidal obedience, to Hitler their savior.
I’m not trying to tempt your faith,
write about god write about man,
But when man believes he’s god,
Yeah! we’ve already lost the plan
And for that habitual poltergeist
that keeps messing up comments
Are you trying to tell me something
or just afraid of the open contents
By
David Kavanagh
In Ulzana's Raid,
the Native- and European-American concepts of property ownership
and rights
are incompatible and irresolvable. McIntosh
had no illusions about that. He said hating Apaches for killing whites
is like hating the desert for having no water.
I suspect the movie's not a good source of anthropological data
and overlooks the commonalities among human communities
to focus on just a few bold characters
as all art must.
I consider McIntosh fortunate
to have died commensurate with the way he lived his life,
rolling a final cigarette, nothing between him and the desert,
and no gravediggers waiting, jesting, defecating. Also,
he is lucky to have had one last, dispassionate friend
to whom there is nothing left to say, the Chiracahua tracker
Kah-ti-nay.
Last night's performance of Beauty and the Beast
may have been the most victorious, ecstatic, cohesive
moment in our little school's history. Emily was Beauty, a filament of
energy
who doesn't like to be touched and has been known to punch
boys hard. She had memorized her lines until she was hardly
Emily but only Beauty in a blue dress unselfconsciously
hiking up her tights between the Beast's advances.
Is this done in every American town and the world
over so there's no need to feel lost or lonely
ever?
There is no context for a man
outside the platoon or raiding party, home or shop.
When violence comes to the neighborhood,
the hierarchy of communicants will hold or fold
it is then the peace work proves relevant. I noticed McIntosh,
grizzled as he was, accepted the given hierarchy, a raw lieutenant's
orders,
as he did the desert and Apaches, with a shrug and foreknowledge
of the outcome.
If there's anywhere with no Emily or Beauty
we should bring them such blessings at the point of a
gun. But there is no place without Emily, not
the least-known prison in deepest space as long
as we do not hate or hurt or shun
the Beast.