Long Compartmentalized Poems
Long Compartmentalized Poems. Below are the most popular long Compartmentalized by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Compartmentalized poems by poem length and keyword.
October days with overcast; hauntingly dreary skies
Underneath which; I am drawn to your essense breadthwise
Strong Northwest winds, become the summers greenest leaves demise
Your Auburn eyes; are my vision of monarch butterflies
Floating on air, gliding; you touch my arms thwartwise
Authentic are our feelings; shared, with no disguise
Recharging each other's batteries; in the ways we empathize
Your eyes may resemble the color rust; for me, they simply galvanize
The way I feel about you, that could not be faked, or synthesized
How we both find safety in each other's arms being compartmentalized
Title:
The Concubine
(A lone voice whispers)
Sometimes
I stand silent and still
Just
Staring up at the blazing hot sun
Is there nowhere left
For me
To now quickly run
No retreat or temple of
Salvation
After all is
Said and done
No matter how you preach
Or shout
For I've done all of this
For you
Lived this old life
Swam the many emotional oceans
Walked the dark lonely wastelands
As the passing grey clouds
Turned blue
But
When I stand silently still
Under the blazing sun
And close
My deep green eyes
Even though inside
I see the shining beacon
An innovative revelation
Of a deep inner truth
Even though
The emotional
Undulating oceans
Still whisper your
Still treasured name
This fate I've chosen
To be your concubine
Numbs the fire and heat
And keeps me eternally
Frozen
My time may be near for
The grey mists are parting
And it's all becoming rather clear
I need to leave to start living and to
Really breathe
But I can still feel
You
Just running
Through all of my pulsating veins
And
Those old ways
Still haunt me
Still
Visiting in the quiet darkness
At three
They always remain
But when
The early morning sun rises
And I open my eyes
It burns them into tiny grey embers
Sending them up high
Into the blazing hot sun
As I pause and bathe in its undertow
As I watch the Autumn
Golden leaves fall
And hope break through
All my
Inner carefully
Compartmentalized walls
No matter where this life
Goes
I really know
I'll just be ok
Because I now know
I'll rise
And no longer fall
When those familiar
Memories
Call
Copyright John Duffy
I have worked in ten schools as a school counselor.
I have had twelve administrators over twenty-seven years.
This one was the quintessential ridiculous administrator.
Let’s call her Dorothy Doo Wrong.
Dorothy Doo Wrong compartmentalized grades 3rd-5th.
This ensures teachers never get to bond with their class.
It is impossible to bond with children you only see half the time.
Dorothy Doo Wrong says no matter what you are supposed to say
“You are not in trouble.”
Teachers need to practice this, for the times that a student might
hit someone, hurt someone, or kill someone.
And you should never act angry.
I was doing lunch duty once when a child put another child in a head lock.
It thought he was going to choke him to death before I could get there.
He argued with me in a yelling way when I told him to go to the office.
When I used a walkie-talkie to say “child has another child in headlock,
I am sending him to the office, DDW said “okay.”
Two seconds later a child in the lunchroom threw food.
I picked up the walkie talkie and said “Sending student to office for throwing food.
Dorothy Doo Wrong yelled “I AM COMING DOWN THERE!”
She came with the head lock choking kid. Gave him another chance.
Later I was told she LOST her COOL when head lock choker did it again
and then the food-thrower threw food.
Wish I could have been there.
Keep God in mind when you look within
for answers to self
Everything you need to know is inside the
cabinets of your soul
The pantry is full of soul food waiting to be
taken from the shelf
Compartmentalized pieces of information
ready to be consumed whole
It's hard to process everything contained
in these rooms
You can't digest the contents if they haven't
been chewed
School is in session and your appetite for
knowledge is understandable
We feed on each other in this universal college
of cannibals
Still starving for understanding while eating
the meat only to spit the bones
Trying to find our way home while still sleeping
in our own beds
Lost in our own head in a glass house throwing
stones
Love’s wheel must be steered in honesty
The unity we once had turned into ice
I believed in her heart but
Deep down I never thought we would grow apart!
In reality, it takes courage and grit to break cultural banners
Many of us do not have that ability
Yet for me it was the only thing that brought tranquillity!
I was fit enough to love her beyond the norm
Her weakness was her strength in disguise
Yet we walked in beauty as it continues to rise!
At times we faced a golden surprise
Because a love should be tested in
Order to see if it can be trusted!
Love is not a game
It is a shame that our past grab us both!
Love that is so compartmentalized will
Find itself shaped in the fountain of error!
Mark Frank
Copyright 2022
Four hang ups, no messages left.
Bereft of those moments near the phone,
a lonely heart could only hope it was you
who called while I was required to be away.
A pay phone call would disguise my ID.
Pleas of "Don't leave," beg from your invisible line.
Mine whispers and tugs "I still love you,"
through a muffled extended phone cord,
stored on a thrift store shelf, buried under
wonders alike, like an answering machine
screened of every piece of you it could seek,
antique now, shrouded in nineties' time,
grimy like the thought of being torn apart.
Compartmentalized moments spent
pent up inside on sunny days to not miss
kisses through a magic sound piece
cease to exist in real time, but two could dream.
Seemingly so far away, but in one chance
glance from beyond thrift store isles,
smiles meet again through unscreened numbers.
3-22-2020
You are the return of words;
A sound I had almost forgotten;
Articulated phrase I let go of
compartmentalized
in a place nobody was meant to wander;
I let that part of me die,
why bring it back to life?
Hearts are healed by a song
only to fail in three minutes and fifteen seconds;
Duration just long enough for a scab to peel
and bleed again;
Aggravating my complexion,
allure of a predator
targeted with tunnel vision;
Who is the enraptured composer?
Two lethal fighters soothed by a melody
have fallen victim to each other;
I can taste my power on your lips
mingling with yours on mine;
Hearts are healed by a song
even with the most jaded of bones;
You are the return of words
the selfish thing I do just for me.
Words are emotion's instrument,
language elementals playing verse's lament, consciousness', lined segment.
Like a Toon, in idea delineation,
incharacterizing, crystalizes stylizes component, tending intent.
O Vehicle pigment of perception, perceiving decorate of mind's apartment.
Compartmentalized strings transported by familiar,
wings,
mind,
rune,
symbol,
telepathy of cheats,
divining what is already there,
dining on empathy.
MirrorWandPictureEntity, transposing matters,
in the art rendering of eye to eye in order to see,
A T communication advent matrix grid
abacus-ad -cabaret, place-holder of epiphany holding film of the camera times phi eating pi of voltaicity.
A connection pathed from a yearning of the soul in creative spark.
In search of combinations and angles of understanding's precision and decision of part,
in the fonts of construction leading to the charter of baptism keys to understanding
the leading to the heart.
Oh, that magical age of 5 -that long-ago time
when memory sharpens and events recalled
get compartmentalized into something more
than mere wisps of mist! Infancy’s vast fog lifts!
My own childhood more vividly recalled began with a country lane
which took my younger sisters and me away from grandpa’s yellow house
past berry bushes and rows upon rows of corn; how happily we meandered.
A year passed. Away from Grandpa’s farm, I got to know new pathways.
These were the streets of my new home city, where my mother remarried.
I walked a labyrinth of new streets, alongside new siblings as well!
In winter’s frigid cold, I’d trudge the many blocks to school and back.
In summer’s heat, my many siblings and I would traipse three mile
just to relish swimming at the pool, licking ice cream cones on our way home.
Poor - but not in spirit - we walked and walked and walked. . .
My 13th year, I walked all my city’s streets selling Christmas cards in summer.
Boils festered on my arms, but I was determined to cover all my town.
That fall, I bought myself a purple bike with the money I had saved.
Another magical year it was! As my life picked up speed,
I left my childhood behind -
pedaling up grueling hills, then racing gleefully down them.
Nov. 28, 2018
The abstract is creative confusion,
Both infinite and void with its form.
Compartmentalized by any illusion,
Then broken down before any storm.
These pieces seem to only grow smaller,
As if invisible to a passing naked eye.
Yet they exist to a realm without limits,
Only imagined when we look to the sky.
This journey seeks to define a mountain,
By its integral simplicity, to a grain of sand.
Where time adds to the calculation,
Through erosion and complexities master plan.
Mankinds quest has always followed,
The need to know our placement, among all the rest.
Leading some to accept godly answers,
Though others look to empirically test.
While there's universal appeal that's growing,
A faithful vision resides to keep pace.
As the search for those quantum levels,
May provide understanding and ultimately, grace.