Long Comparison Poems
Long Comparison Poems. Below are the most popular long Comparison by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Comparison poems by poem length and keyword.
Public policies are program designs
with regenerative health and safety vetted practices,
rooted in evidence of resiliently positive outcomes
Usually supported by some form of evolving theory
and/or systematic teleological perspective
about why interventions may be rationally expected
to progress toward more constitutionally protected healing
than unethical harming,
and at what cost compared to alternative governing strategies.
Producing executive orders
that are primarily reactions against existing policies
and/or regulatory procedures
without evidence that these reversals of direction
will not be more harmful than healing to people
and/or plants
and/or planet
is not developing healthy
or democratic
public governance
It is, instead, dictating autocratic,
and often kleptocratic,
promulgation of upper-caste preserving influence
without trauma-informed intent
to effectively respond
to mental and/or physical harm,
nor environmentally degenerative waste
risking thrival potential for future generations
Without any credible public service justification
for financial and neurosystemic trauma cost
intrinsic to reversing healthcare-informed direction,
specifically in comparison to extant legislated policies
now being replaced by executive fiat.
To preserve public service distinctions
between aristocratic caste-conserving ideology
and democratic-caste Constitutional teleology
please do not confuse President Trump's degenerative procedural disorders,
derived from fear of inevitable failure
and contrived from anger-mongering,
with democratically progressive
constitutionally resonant "more perfect union"
development of Left+Right bicamerally responsive
caste-interdependent governance
Organic trauma informed
resonant health and wealth serving
best ecotherapeutic practice
of resiliently safe sacred Earth stewardship.
Yet upon another reflexive routine dash
skipping to Waterloo, I got emboldened
with idea praising basic vital functions
aware requisite elimination of liquid
and/or solid waste any obstruction
disallowing body to expel toxins would
prove fatal, thus gratitude toward
regular unpicturized, unhindered, and
unaided intervening measures undertaken
to experience thee nonpareil pleasures
actuated without purgative, yet should
instance arise finding impossibility
to exercise sphincter muscle
(constipation worse fate than
perdition) alleviating solid state brick
like blockage spasm inducing agony
within me bum, yours truly racks impound
did severely inconvenienced physical
self accessing natural remedy to soften
stool temporarily incapacitating peaceful
ease zee ex-lax feeling accompanying
experience that approximates how pregnant
mother inundated with contractions ready to
give birth, whereat merciful joyous crying
emanates courtesy this humble human, no
matter he never tested his steely ironic
mettle say completing wilderness survival
course, but rarely speculates such grueling
boot camp self inflicted challenges
pale in comparison to loosing bowel
movement big enough to sink battleship, and
mighty exertion finally dumps payload,
the toilet bowl hastens meteorologists to
issue tsunami warnings insync with "Damn
the torpedo" this ole windbag blasted clear
across contiguous United States, where
whizzing, sounding, jet setting like
speeding bullet (self Mach re:) puzzled
onlookers mistake me for some foreign entity
lost in space analogous to detect a stylish alien
(pants bunched around ankles - most definitely
tell tale clue, asper rating him hip hopping
longfellow), yea undoubtedly a messenger
from outer limits of twilight zone sent to...
wait...his trumpeting tush gaseous, an utter
farts feigning "FAKE" comet tee.
My new forest and park neighbors,
mostly birds
squirrels
and strangely curious
and ravenous rabbits,
Have become accustomed to,
spoiled by,
fragrant green sanctuary
ancient fertile memories.
But, today
our neighborly horse farm
must be cleaning house.
This smells of too rich compost
upstaging even more gracious green.
This downgrade
calls to me
recalling former toxic smells,
fossil fuel exhausting,
were sooo... much more degenerative.
Horsey compost
lies between love's light life fragrance
and dark skinned death
of odorous Earth.
Yet, comparing distances
between green forest
and horse fragrance
and transported stinky fractures
through sacred climates ecological
resonant and resilient airs
and gusts
and breezes,
Comparative distances
continuously,
yet consecutively, change
what one might argue
is a contrasting wealth of difference,
+1, to -1, with midway
horse-powered zero neutral
Feels more like two-thirds healthy fragrance
and only one third toxic
Feels closer to three-fourths salient
to one-fourth punitive memory
from here
and now perspective,
Feels closer to seven-eighths
to one-eighth formerly deranged
of a revolutionary
resonantly regenerative
fractalling
resiliently redundant
multicultural sensory/spiritual
nurturing
re-communicating natural octave
of Golden Ratio/Rule comparison,
At last
resiliently resonant.
He hit me..! mom did you see?
What is all this OOAAHHH! in my head? This thing I will call-
sound...
Where did the warmth go?
I can't breath..
who are all of these creatures..
crazy beings.., is that called smiling?
Looks as though they intend-
to eat me... unprepared, naked, me.
So cold, can't they see I'm drowning?!?
I want to go back where my eyes don't
scream in my head,
back where it was warm..
mom.., why?
Hello new one, it's life,
the ticking continues..
to the end.
Let the comparison begin,
for life!
why can't you be's forever on!
crazy, isn't it fine
that I'm just me..?
Why can't you be!
more like your brother,
smart like your sister,
pretty as a peach,
skinny as a beanpole,
curvy and fit,
taller than my ex,
or tan and brawny,
as Hercules.
When will you grow up!
when will you listen!
when will you stop whining?
Please let me be happy,
please let me be...
just me.
Listen my children
and you shall hear
of the midnight ride
speeding greed will steer.
Just as our cooperative economy
is fueled by gratitude,
our competitive WinLose economy
is fueled by greed.
Other parallel points of contrast
ecologically and logically follow
in their own sweet and sour time.
Cooperative industry,
business
tribes
governments
systems and networks
enjoy organically limited slow-growth
in comparison
to capitalism and elitism and egotism
fast-growth
toward insufficiency of Earth's carrying capacity,
and Yang-dominant WinLose evolutionary enculturation
of Yang-Yin divisive survival stories--
Mom and Dad never could get along--
secularly supplanting sacred
Yin/Yang health/wealth thrival stories
of slow Paradise
revolving seasonally appropriate deep-ecological development,
listening to both redevelopment Left
and reverting-reverse-time decompositional analysis Right
of restoring nutritional-slow
and toxic-fast
health trends.
Further,
and don't fall asleep yet,
we're just getting to the best part,
slow grown cooperatives toward abundance
are dominated by matriarchal/patriarchal integrity stories
more than fast-paced
overshooting patriarchal Westerns with shot gun dissonance,
the chaos of believing and teaching
that justice is what comes out of the end of a rifle association,
incommensurability of values
across economically healthy corporations
as also ecologically wealthy organic-flowing incorporations,
both born of FatherSun
deductive LeftBrain enlightenment
and MotherEarth
inductive RightBrain polyphonic feelings
of color and sound
music and dance
in octave-fractal
slow-growth marches
toward salt marshes
predicting oceans
of YangLight
slow-breeding Yin-tides of revolution.
Matriarchy,
where what is embedded deepest
is also ethically and aesthetically highest
richest
healthiest.
Listen my children
and you shall hear
of the midnight ride
speeding greed will *****.
And everyone died alone unhappily ever after
as before.
Windows That Must Fall
I am free and I look at the world with eyes wide open toward mystery,
my fingers tremble like willows beaten by old, short-lived winds, like arrows forgotten in a bow's string long since slack,
and in my palms I hold a heart that burns like a torch in collapsed cathedrals,
just as sorcerers of long-gone nights would clutch, in their old ecstasies,
the moon, the grasses, the pyre, and the heavy silence of fallen stars.
Today's poets, with hands thin as delayed lightning bolts,
carry in their chests a window that must be broken so the light can enter,
and the lucidity with which we look at the universe afterward
is the only prayer that still keeps the flesh awake within our bones,
and their tongue of embers — what a disturbing, sacred spectacle.
Now that we are free, our walking through the streets carries the weight of a prophecy:
women carry today, in their eyes, treasures buried for centuries,
gentlemen smile with mouths full of old coins and silences,
shop windows burn like altars with saints of glass and false gold,
and our pockets, once full of sweets and letters,
now hide round stones, still warm from yesterday's sun.
Along with us, others too go out walking on the great boulevards of night,
they carry white, heavy fingers like unmelted candles,
and in my pocket, beside the face of a love long extinguished,
I carry a handkerchief soaked in the tears of all the empty train stations.
Today's poets, with hands trembling like willows,
poets with warm stones in every pocket of the soul,
must know that the only hard part is breaking the first dream met along the way,
because all the other dreams shatter on their own,
just as it's enough to put out a single star to watch
how the whole sky closes behind it, silent and beyond cure.
I ask forgiveness for the comparison to the star, poets of other times,
it's a memory from the years when I worshipped at every blossoming tree
and fainted with longing at every sunrise that seemed eternal to me.
Today's poets, with hands short and quick as gentle bullets,
can hurl their warm stones at the comparison to the star —
it will perhaps be the first window you truly break,
and all the other windows of the world will open on their own,
letting an entire sky pour into the houses, immortal and sad.
Be sparse like the saltbush plains
of the outback, short on adjectives,
mostly verb and noun. Let the sun
scorch shadows into the sand,
hollow out some shade where a little
life can hide from the heat.
Celebrate the light, its clear passage
through the air, hard as the sharpened
edge of a steel blade. See how it cracks
the land, opens wounds where
the inland snake hides and brews
its venom in perfect silence.
At night feel a cold descend
from a sky emblazoned with stars
set in the icy distances of space.
Endure a solitude that drains the soul
as it leaks out towards horizons
of absolute nothingness,
here,
come face to face with yourself.
Note.
The Australian outback is largely
a dry and unpopulated area covering
around 70% of the total land mass
of the country.
By comparison, this arid region
equates to a little over 50%
of the area of the United States,
( excluding Alaska ).
I have spent the better part of my life
In a never ending state of comparison
That's been impossible to escape,
Scrutinising every inch of me
Down to the bone,
Looking in the mirror
Feeling wholelly alone.
I marked in my head
All the things I would change.
None of me was safe
From the silent surgery I'd make,
Not even myself
Down to the core.
I'd observe other people,
Adopting quirks and habits
In the hopes of becoming more admirable
To everyone I knew or would meet
Until the few existing layers
Of my own that still remained,
Were covered so well in the ground,
Existing in their own graves
That forever goes untouched.
Never have I been able to escape
This state of comparison I seem to exist in.
Forever am I the pathological people pleaser,
Willing to change just to be liked,
Never truly feeling like I could be enough as I am.
Heat, in the shade, with a drink and a parade - of graduates, blue and gold. An army sent out to take on the world. Proud. Politics takes over as the principal wields the pulpit. The valedictorian - smart and charming.
In the P.M., as the sun slowly dips, clouds cosset the next batch. Less formal and a smaller set of graduates, dressed in black and gold. At first glance less attractive in comparison to the morning glow. But this student body has heart.
The salutatorian blesses God, as her speech ends. The valedictorian tells us (them) to drive kind whether we walk or are masked in our cars. And the principal is student-centered. Oh what a wonderful man to have in charge.
Puffed chest. Proud of both graduates. Whether an individual in glorious and flowery fold or the everyday crowd, may God bless their souls. May they use all the intelligence, wisdom, charm and grace to bless the human race.
O my soul. My heart beats.
7/18/2020
It's moderating, yee haw it's warming a bit
Finally it's getting above zero
Just a while ago thought 5 was freezing
Now it's balmy from a few days ago
In comparison temps can feel warm or cold
Depending on what we're accustomed to
Fifty can feel downright damn balmy or frigid
Really not much us guys can do
Go with the flow, that's what I always say
At fifty in the fall wear a coat
At fifty in spring strip down to your underpants
Coz fifty's balmy, no joke
So there you have it, that's my take on things
Humans are hard to comprehend
Hard to try to figure us modern guys out
It'll drive you around the bend
© Jack Ellison 2014