Long Composed Poems
Long Composed Poems. Below are the most popular long Composed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Composed poems by poem length and keyword.
...His starting point, after much hustling,
was a diner at the edge of the town,
the man who had once built massive bridges
now spent his days at work frying hash browns.
Working for a pittance, day after day,
the only place that would dare give him pay.
About three months into doing such work,
just after the breakfast rush was complete,
he saw a woman enter the diner,
with two young boys, she looked about forty.
Time had done little to Alan’s ex-wife,
Whitney was a queen, hallowed in his sight.
He tried to hide, but Whitney caught a glimpse,
a flabbergasted look clear on her face,
but he made no move to go talk with her,
and she had two kids, could not leave her place.
His heart pounded until Whitney had left,
seeing her moved over felt much worse than death.
She had proclaimed that she would stand with him
when the accusations first had been made,
but the media had taken its toll,
he had watched her resolve drain, day by day,
until the day that the verdict had come,
when he’d been locked up, then it had been done.
She’d started divorce, he didn’t contest,
it was something he could not do to her,
she’d wanted children, normal existence,
all the things that a good woman deserved.
With him in prison, that would be denied,
so he’d signed the papers, and said goodbye.
It had been simple, before he’d been freed,
when he had not had a reason to hope,
now, seeing her, with some other man’s kids,
seemed beyond his ability to cope,
a wound that wouldn’t heal, slowly bleeding,
making him question the point of being.
But the next day, when his shift was over,
and he was walking slowly for the bus,
he saw a G-wagon, and his Whitney,
and his heart started racing then because
there were no kids there, no shield she could use,
confronting this was what he could not do.
But she came forwards, her face fresh with tears,
struggling hard to keep herself composed,
until she broke down, and embraced Alan,
saying, “I’m sorry…how-how could I know?
I’m not sure how to deal with this because
I don’t know why she would do this to us!
“Now I’m left looking at a man I love,
that I abandoned, I’m ashamed it’s true…
We were so happy, but now all I see
is all the things that I’ve taken from you.
The life you deserved, that I thought we’d build,
her lies and my weakness…it’s all been killed.”
CONTINUES IN PART III.
Chromatic
Voglio chetu sia mio
Ibi locutus sum
J 'espere que je ne le
regretterai pas
Na ia jeg takkle meg
selv
Daar is geen skeuring
tussen jou en my nie
Es un honored haberna
sentido asi
Jeg vil gifte meg med
deg: Ja sir re'
....................................
Composed by
Griot Apala
Ritmo Escale
Cancion Sonido
Armonia Letra
Benga Gnawa
and
Forro Frevo
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
From The Movie
"Simon Pure, The long way Around"
a story told by motion picture soundtracks
featuring Sincerus Fakta and
Fatto Frevo
Themed from 1999
"Brazilian Desert Beach bum's
find a treasure map, and one
of the guy's inherits a fortune
but in order to collect they have to
raise catt Brazil for one
year, as a cohesive crew
who show the caretaker
that they are
responsible people and the
inheritor makes compited decisions.
Above the Line
the film is said
to be targeted
to people who'll come back to movie
theators Twenty years from now
to see it agin.
The music alone is enough
to see this film. This one
has the magic number.
It's one to inspire artsy films for decades.
Lyric written by
Scherzo " Samba" Pizzicato
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
"Having a Nemesis and creating another one sound's like something a Madman inspires to do"
" Bullsh4t, man! Bull! you stray from her one more time and I will exstarct the closest thing to hell your dumbass could ever want to see. Punks like you alway get the pretty ones, treat them like whores and don't think people care about you or what you're going through, truth is it aint even worth it! A woman is smart enough to love and mean enough to understaan, but if you cross her one more time, she'll be demonifed enough to mortar, remeber I'm ah loving fool waiting to for you to get in my face!"
" It's as strange as you make it: and as familair as you allow it to be, just remember you aint right in this fight Honey! Woman been doing this for years and you think you done scoreed the big one, He might be gaming ya!"
" True love conqueres all it seeps into the soul and intoxicates the spirt: : I aint seen nothing here that does that for me, even though I am in love with him. It's fun tricking him: his former freind wanted me to be pregant with his child, and look him in his eyes and tell him he was the daddy, all along while he and I would only know the differance: I thought about it!"
Competing to weaken inappropriate business models for healthy government
too industriously advocating automated capital-enriching violence
despite co-arising globally stressed-out climates
is not an eco-theologist apologist's leading non-trump card.
Connecting intentionally cooperative people
and communing plants
and healthy commingling planet
more polypathically ego/ecotherapeutic
seems more effectively persuasive
toward historically therapeutic economic-political case studies
and multiculturing communion designs for communal integrity
through deep LeftMind with RightBody co-dominant bicameral listening
and beauty glistening
Acting widely in-between
1. Resilient Western competing co-investors
in healthy cooperative ownership
and management
and governing
and inclusive democratic authority
and co-responsibility for rights to speak and rites to listen or not
and non-sectarian integrity of thought
with co-passionate feeling models, and
2. Resonant Eastern extended family cooperative communion
poly-theological timeless models
intending eco-faith in multi-health communities
diversely composed of trans-regenerational co-arising residents
spiritually within as naturally without
sacredly peaceful below as non-violent above.
TippingPoints in-between LeftLiberal Love
and RightConserving Economically Balanced Life
wu-wei
RightWing merely secular capital-producing incorporations
for a strong ego-defense
and LeftWing sacred incarnations
for liberating universal health-languaged EarthPassion
Leaking out of both liberal/conserving dipolar ends
recreating robust multicultural rainbows
of co-arising message maps
for wellness lights
Between ZeroZone prime co-relational territories
of Yang-strength,
atomically reductive chemistry tables,
natural ionic icons
with Yin's ergodic highway flow,
wavy and multi-linear--
toward primal 4D redundant
communal
healing myths--
seasons with nutritional reasons
Restoring recreatively persuasive health trends
for positive ecological relationships
cooperatively away from absence
of future's holistic nutritional wealth.
Strengthening the inductive RightBrain
embodied sacred LeftBrain ecology case
for becoming ego/eco-therapeutic peers
sharing a full WinWin mindbody
multi-spectral
neural-sensory deck
of non-trumpian cards
for WinWin communion players.
The mind is a womb
Copulate it
Let the semen of reason
Part the legs of its cervix
And you will see
When moth struggles before its born
The power of its dreams for flight
Words are eggs, you know
Virginal eggs,
I saw him hatch them into bricks
Of ideas that he could carve
Like an Edna exhibit
All copulation must spontaneous
A true gentleman has that gift
Not to force his feelings
On his betrothed
He was also scholar, you know
A sort of poet
That prefer metaphors to the conflict
Of chisel and wood
He had such a mastery of the rhetoric
I mean he understood them better than us
For he did not only speak like them
But spoke their strategy better than them
I sometimes wondered how he knew himself
Apart.
Its sort of seemed ironic
That he did have the anger that Fanon composed
Unless wit is a subtle part of it
May be environment is such a part of it
The cool, I mean
We say that about Manchesterians
Roxborough,
If it could produce the soldier-scholar
Could not have produced just a little fire
Even for the cremation of his brother, Roy
Perhaps it was the mix blood ...
Busta said that his mother was Taino
I do not understand is who mixed them though
There is an overt statement of force to be made
A rape scrubbed from the memory
For how could one half of hm
Become so invisible ...
The mission I mean.
I must rule
More than wood, and more
Than water
For my destiny
Is more than what men may leech
So I am not exploited
I am killed for this robbery
And here I am left
A dead man on a throne
Here I am
Shrouded with self government
And staring into the empty eyes
Of children
So why do I love him then
Was it alone because my father
Fashioned my world for me
Gave me this icon
For proximity the barbarians
Who snatched my mother
Washing her white linen one day
From the sweet river
Do not take that thought to the bank
Where my children play
This man deserves his accolade
If only for taking blindness from my mind
If only for letting me know
The chain had never rattled their
And even in their own words
I could look at the world
And ask "why not?"
He gave me a ladder to my education
That was some gift,
Quite the best of all I am given
O it so beautiful to copulate the mind
Or hold hands through the annals
And see this Manley,
This little fountain of great ambition
Flowing at my lips.
“since thoughts speak in past tenses,
drop mind, rely on senses,
embracing and releasing,
pain pangs and pleasure pleasing” ~ Unseeking Seeker
The sun
w a n e s into the saline swell,
and the ether
undresses corseted ruminations,
while heart follows formless flames
illuminated with flares of
frankincense forgiveness
as mind replays recurring regrets
like vinyls~
spinning forlorn runes
laced with fallacious fragments,
clouding the intricate cycle of lunar~
intuitions with illusive riddles,
drifting into the eventide of agony…
So I drink and I dine
from the hyacinth hands of
the golden chalices
brimming with turmeric tranquility,
listening ~ in sync ~
with the soul of sanguine stillness
ricocheting with rustling repose,
erasing cracked crevices
heavy with ache
from soft smears of monarch-bliss strokes,
spilling picturesque pigments of peace
from Mona Lisa musings
to veil visions of vanity,
to mask mirrors of melancholy,
to soften scarlet streaks of sorrow…
Tonight I close the portals
of perplexed perceptions,
unlocking the crown chakra
like forgotten forests
glowing with faith and fireflies,
allowing stars to glaze
my inner psyche
with dusts of glistening gratitude,
fine-tuning the symphony of Kundalini
to musical mists of mindfulness,
cloaked in
crystalline clovers of clarity~
like an awakened fairy
flipping leaves of lotus love,
pausing the pulse of pain
beneath an empyrean embellished
with spiritual elixirs,
detached from darkness,
clinging neither to
the seraphic scriptures
nor the egoistic galaxies,
sprinkling superficial sparkles
of material mantras.
As enlightened ink r e m a i n s
reliving ~ sewn into the
seams of sacredness
like endless rivers rippling with
opalescent quiescence…
O divine almighty,
I vow to sow herbs of harmony,
engrossed in the timeless phase
of rose-wine twilight~
untangling twisted tulips
intertwined with
weathered willows.
As I seek nothing but lucid light,
soaked in petrichor musings,
resting in zealous zenith,
for I am a rhymeless disciple
accepting the reality
that kissed the silk of silhouette
amidst rain and warmth~
the celestial peaks of change.
I taste flavors of kismet,
swallowing spices of lament,
comfortably composed
in the mystical essence
of soundless rhythm…
It stands alone four square, white-washed straw-thatched,
small window panes, black frames, and out back chickens hatched,
pecking weedy ground around a single willow.
Set just a little back from single country lane,
high-hedged between the farms with tracks for bumpy tractor rides,
strong arms to try and guide wobble wheels on hardened sun-dry ruts,
to draw trailored dung across winter's dark and muddy fields.
Father's fingers, numb with frost by hand-picked sprouts,
with dawn's dim light not yet bright enough to warm his back.
And hundred weights of summer grain on neck and shoulder,
staggered through barn doors to store, to tip hessian sacks piled high,
sack upon sack.
My mother, crushed and bruised at milking stall,
squeezing squirting teats to fill the milking pale,
to complete them all before mucking out the dung and straw,
then moving on to something more which bends the back
and rubs sodden foot sore in chilled hoof-trodden boot.
This was no Eden's garden which followed war enough to harden
even softer souls.
Yet, it was a paradise for smaller feet to roam free among the fields,
not caring when to make for home and sup on sprouts that dad had picked
and mum had peeled, and soft cooked, with such hard labour,
all overlooked by youth, and by youth's youthful ignorance.
For some, certainly for dad, and for mum,
Eden's garden gave way to thistle and to thorn,
and to sweated furrowed brows serving children's carefree days,
and precious hopes for first and second son.
These rode upon the carts and crossed the dykes in leaky barrels
and threw their stones at tethered bull not caring for the weather,
whether fine, or whether dull, or whether small gloved fingers numbed with chill.
For them that Eden's garden was a Paradise still,
and though choking staining seed was sown, it was not yet grown,
and eyes not yet exposed to serpent's smaller gardens,
composed for ever younger eyes, for the tainting and enslaving of ever younger lives.
That wiley snake now lurks and lies inside dark orchards of delight,
a world explored unseen from pillowed comfort,
and sometimes in the darker night with a different sky blue light,
that Eden web now known world wide, that Eden made with fallen pride,
that Eden oft obscene, that Eden all of lies, that lies behind the pixel screen.
I was an inscrutable, capricious mystery writer, like a pure mystery of days;
And I had composed best selling novels, like westering sun's scarlet phase.
An unparalleled passion for writing, had for quite long been the motivation,
Behind novels which captured hearts, like pink clouds, drifting in formation.
My office desk faced the picture window, near the border of riotous blooms;
And sunny views enriched often eager eyes, owing to birds of many plumes.
Friends were a forever force in my life, like the natural floods of floundering,
Or as sun and moon meet in an eclipse, darkening heyday, with no warning.
Fairy-like forests, and fields of colored flowers, flamed with furious abandon,
Frequently, as fulgent family found one, to dazzle brighter than amber sun!
I lived in the house of mist mysteries, in haze shrouded, mighty mountains;
And each cherry dawn doled surprises, like roving redbirds in the thousands.
So sleepy in sun-drenched summer, my silent street was stained with hues,
In new modern, stylish, songbird days, like a gold treasure you cannot lose.
Neighbors would navigate narcissistic night, bearing an apple pie, or a joke;
Sharing fun and noisy laughter, like a blue undersea volcano, magma awoke.
Birds swept peaks of sculpted, stunning mountains, in the hot, daisy season,
And sky and the earth merged twice a day, in affinity hues of love cohesion.
The naked man orchid shivered with breezes, like quivery trees of November,
And Johnny Jump Up puckered at lemon sun, like a sour taste remembered.
In a sapphire sea near the mountains, a friend and I set out sailing one day,
As a youth follows wildest, golden dreams. Yet, heavy fog descended to stay.
Were we heading for wide open water, or drifting to shores of purple flowers?
That danger held a lovely mystery, like adventure during the nighttime hours.
Hour after rosy hour, we were drifting blind. Our motor had long since died;
Like green butterflies, questing for hours, in a place pink daisies lately cried.
We were afraid of being lost forever, so Pearl and I joined hands and prayed,
Also praying for our downhearted families, if fate's hand would not be stayed.
After many anxious, vagrant moments, a foghorn sounded, loud and so near;
Our desperate prayers were answered, by the voice of our Savior, very dear!
In ecstatic climaxing designs
for healthy multicultural communications
ecopolitically correcting
currently imbalanced
unhealthy
disempowering outcomes
Our most resiliently robust productions
derive from nonviolent communions,
compassion restoring cooperative
healthy EarthJustice
Resilient democracy
co-invested in green peace
repurposing relationships for mutual equity,
co-empathic integrity,
win/win cooperativity.
This NonZero HomeZone
is our most authentic open design
for health and safety systemic thrival,
composed of egocenter's integral survival,
Self/Other
Me/We extending primal family zones
of great regenerational transition,
safely within our primary shelter
for cooperative relationships
with neighboring boundary habitats.
Zone One,
furthers interdependently defined
loneliest shade of Othering neighborhood properties
since the number TwoZones
in co-passionate thriving re-membered relationship
within our municipal
eco-political
democratic communication,
designing unitarian green communities
with woke regional interreligious education
and nondualistic natural/spiritual
indigenous wisdom reformation
Sharing Zone Two
lived fully
gratefully
gracefully in our daily
sacred experienced community
conjoining double-bound interreligious cultural connections
to our eco-politically ego/eco-organizing
HealthCare Design Team
for Golden Ruled bioregional optimization
of wealthy co-invested atmosphere,
ecological soil,
cultural drinking water
interwoven in this robust economic climate
of cooperative design
for win/win multicultural compassion.
Completing this holonic Open System Fractal
is Zone Three,
Gaian EarthMother
still cooperatively rebirthing
healthy
resilient
spring climaxing climates
remediating rebirth
with all cooperatively designing
organic EarthTribe species,
Currently excluding anthrosupremacist Zone Four
LeftBrain dominant
dualistic commodified employment
of de-nihilistic CAPITAL-HEADED fundamentalists
worshiping anti-recreative professional consumer design
bowing to an autocratic StraightWhite militarized altar
of politically uncorrected Patriarchal Capitalism
suboptimal disassociations
settling for win/lose normativity
ZeroSum pathologically uncaring
lose/lose entropic absence
of regenerative health is trusted wealth
bicameral design.
I have waited for so long to share this impromptu song, I have created it myself, the day when I heard that my mother was dead; I am still trying to process it, but I cannot see where the story fits;I was twelve and my brother was fifteen, three years separate us apart and the day she died my entire world came apart.
She was all that I had to keep me for being, sad and the call that she made when she was on that date was the biggest mistake that she had ever made. It was easy for them to trace the call and find her location abroad, I didn’t know that was the last time I was going to speak to her or I would have told her that I loved her and my heart would be at ease.
Everything happens so fast and here I am exiled in the dark, living in a strange country estrange from the royal family, and the people that I love so dear cannot take the time to celebrate my signature line with me. Everyone is busy and they cannot adjust their schedule to join me.
Here I am all alone celebrating the games anniversary without a crown; I wish my mother was around she would have driven out all the fear and smile; she was so bold and I loved having her around, but now I am a grown man but every time I think about her it makes my spirit sad my heart starts yearning for thee.
I have tried not to think about it, and I kept wondering why Paparazzi did it, I have a strong inclination to open up the case to put the conspire to bed and reveal the truth of how my mother died .
Was the accident meant for her or was it meant for the company that was with her, it was arrange and the probe was not in vain but the act of adultery in broad day light would have ended in a sacrifice. I still cannot see were the story fits, pull the puzzle apart and shine the light into the dark.
I can still see the procession moving along and my brother and I walking behind the horse driven casket; how much that memory haunts me and tarnishes my childhood prosperity .If I had to make one wish that would be to see her alive again and I would thank her for making that heartfelt sacrifice.
I have composed this Impromptu song and I want the royal family to sing it with me, to erase Dina's painful memory.
I have never gotten over it and mercy has spared me from going over the cliff. Tell my father to come and see me and have biscuits and tea with me.
Grandpa the Master Magician
Grandpa was old and creaked
like a well-worn floorboard
but he always carried a smile with him
which generally won the day or the situation.
He had just spent time with his two grandchildren
which had added fun to his morning’s recipe.
They saw Grandpa as this master magician
capable of producing an egg from either nostril
..…. boiled or not.
An eggcellent start to any day!!
Later, on an icicle of an afternoon
and confronted by a presumptuous wind
which blew him around street corners;
he found himself happily chasing his youth.
Newspaper and chocolate treat acquired
he set off for the finishing line of home.
He noted that the traffic lights were changing to red!
So, although not at the proper crossing, his GPS
i.e. Grandpa’s Priority Selector
was saying…GO! GO! GO!
However so was a fast-approaching Fiat 500!
Grandpa felt validated by time and experience so..
he sailed forth but time and his knees didn’t agree.
His legs instead of speeding up, started slowing down
which was the exact opposite of the flying Fiat,
driven ruthlessly by a manic-panicked driver
who exaggerated a swerve around Grandpa
with arms orchestrating her extremely annoyed thoughts.
Grandpa tottered on oblivious to the orchestrations.
He felt composed being lean, leathery and learned
as opposed to the driver’s ill-fed, ill-bred, ill-mannered approach.
However Grandpa, the master magician, wasn’t to be thwarted
so as his feet touched pavement, his hand touched cap,
then his winning smile and a flicked wave of politeness.
The driver just continued with her orchestration of
Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony in C Minor
while mouthing, “Is your brain on holiday!”
However life was to offer Granpa a final judgement
for as the traffic lights winked from red to green
our driver was still in a boil of botheration until…
a honk of reprimand from behind grabbed her attention.
Frustrated she tried to floor the accelerator pedal
but only succeeded in stalling the engine.
The horn hoots and toots began queuing up
until the Fiat 500 burnt rubber and swivel-hipped away.
Grandpa’s face showed not a flicker of amusement
but he allowed his bones to enjoy the moment -
particularly the funny one!
Then the wind giggled up, clapped him on the back
and then kindly blew him gently home!