Long Comprehend Poems
Long Comprehend Poems. Below are the most popular long Comprehend by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Comprehend poems by poem length and keyword.
There are sentences that are inaudible
And words that are passively silent
Oh! Words, verbs, innuendoes and pirouettes
We instantly ask incredulous questions.
Their gestures sometimes are understandable
Clever foxes hide behind vices
We comprehend very well why racists
Are intermittently invisible.
Oh! Silence that is when words do not exist
We see rats robbing the store at daylight and the cats
Patiently and intelligently examine the list
Of the remaining victims peacefully and wisely.
Words are often deadly dangerous
Daring the weapons of inequality around the hellish fire
Which is about to consume the desperate city
Where the words are silent and strangled.
Hebert Logerie , September 29, 2013
I have bought a garage-sale typewriter.
It is an old replica of an even older machine.
It should have a desk of its own,
but the computer has eaten all of that space,
and its plastic belly keeps getting larger.
Up all last night, making a desk for my typewriter.
I am handy with words, but it wasn’t easy.
The desktop had to be as soft as a cloud
to avoid the rattle of any disjointed poetry.
The white pine legs had to be shaped just right.
I put a black lace garter on all four
of those white shapely legs
My typewriter speaks a thousand words of English,
if you peck at it with a thousand fingers.
I have hired a woman to type for me.
A man won’t do, I want a professional woman
who will never seek to comprehend
what I ask her to type.
A man would question, advise,
eventually demand more fingers.
I hired a moonlighting woman from the typing pool
with coffee serving skills. Don’t hate me,
she is a 100 years old, and there is no employment for
moonlighting typing pool ladies of her age now.
Today the old typewriter, the desk and the lady
are all in place.
I pace the floor in my frock coat, mumbling incantations
to a reluctant muse.
“Mr. do you want me to type that mumbling incantation
to your reluctant muse?”
I have been up all night, and I’m very tired.
“Just type anything, but be sure to make it plausible,”
I admonish, heading for the bedroom.
Written for a friend in mourning. Loss is a very personal thing. No one can grieve for you. No one can take away your pain or unbreak your heart. Only time, transmutation and healing can help. But nothing ever fixes things. The scar tissue just helps us a little bit whilst we try to survive and get by.
Hopefully, in time, we are able to see the beauty in the Universe again. Please try to remember to look up at the stars. Hugs and love.
I know prayers can't unbreak my heart
(I know wishes won't bring you back)
By Michelle Morris
08/12/2023
Today I pretended to be human
Just like the days before
Despite my heart being trapped in a cage
And my soul beyond Earth having fallen
For the loss of you weighs me down
Deep into the darkest abyss
There where no Light shines
There where monsters lurk
So much grief swirls around that place
So many memories can drown in tears
And long before we know it
Our heartbreak has thorns we fear
Prickly and difficult to handle
The roses of love and hope having died
Round and round the thoughts go
What more we could've done when they were alive
But the past is the past for a reason
We can't turn back the hands of time
And the future will never be golden
If we don't embrace the love in our lives
And still, I struggle with this every day
Because at the moment I'm still pretending
I know that the choices are mine
And maybe in time I will comprehend it
But life is a gift to each of us
I know this deep down in my soul
But while my heart is still broken
It might take a long time until I'm whole
There'll always be scar tissue that aches
On those rainy days when we used to dance in the rain
And until we meet again
I'll work on transmuting my pain
I know prayers can't unbreak my heart
I know wishes won't bring you back
But I will remember you every day
I love and miss you stacks
© Michelle Morris, 2023
I have been thinking for so long
To write for you and compose my song
So much my fear you got my tune wrong
But relieved you and I well get along
Not important from what I would start
As my words do flow from my very heart
Remember
I am your mum
And you are my daughter and sons
For a few years dating back
I kept to you saying “my life give me back”
Perplexed you looked and could not quite comprehend
That phrase of mine and what of message could send
Though you all proved each single time
You can read my voice and feel my rhyme
Remember
I am your mum
And you are my daughter and sons
In your blood running my genes
You able to see behind my scenes
The seeds of my words for long been spreading
On your land and on the path you are treading
The bond is so tight and dear you are my offspring
So happy to nurture your souls in my wondrous spring
Remember
I am your mum
And you are my daughter and sons
Then before the first leaves started to fall
A heavy silence in me echoed a call
The worlds of mine how I need to regain and relish
And my inner soul try to nourish and embellish
Now that you outgrew my world that’s my bliss
What we have lived and shared I’ll ever reminisce.
Give me back my life that’s my song for you and me
We just listen to the tunes of our hearts and what set us free..
Remember
I am your mum
And you are my daughter and sons
I was returning a bike to it’s home this morning…left out by a child who, no doubt, was remiss and as I pushed it along the sidewalk I began to reminisce.
Back to when I was a child…remembering what it was like…the day I learned to balance…the day I learned to ride a bike.
I remember the innocence…the freedom…riding without a care…I remember the smile on my face …I remember the wind blowing in my hair.
I’d ride for hours with my friends…friends with whom I’d grown…for once you hopped on your bike in our neighborhood…you never rode alone.
Our bikes took us on adventures that strengthened our hearts and soothed our souls. We’d only stop to climb a tree…skip some stones…or dive into the swimming hole…
We loved to ride together through the ditches during a rain..
and if we fell and skinned our knees…we just ignored the pain.
We learned to ride with no hands…down our street and all around…
We’d attach baseball cards to our spokes just to listen to the sound.
For when we heard those baseball cards…on whatever bicycle we were striding…no longer were they bikes…but motorcycles we were riding.
On our bikes is where we learned to be independent…it’s where we learned to pretend…on our bikes is where we learned what it means to be a friend.
At the doorstep of the house I set the bike down…gently on its side…and I thought how different the world is now than it was when I first learned to ride.
I’m not sure it was true…but when I visit those memories again and again and again…wasn’t the world a little kinder, a little gentler, a little more innocent back then?
Perhaps that’s why as I grow older I find it difficult to comprehend…how, though many people still remember how to ride a bike.…they’ve forgotten how to be friends..
How somewhere in the midst of living…they’ve forgotten how to be kind…
How without the even realizing it…they’ve left their innocence behind…
Which makes me wish more people would remember exactly what it was like…
The day we found our balance…the day we learned to ride a bike.
The crowd bows,murmuring praises,I wear their borrowed wreath,
Ink still wet in their trembling tongues that seek to canonize passion,
They crown my silence,yet my words outlive their marble-
laurel blazes like Gin!Gin!I Love You.(1)
Call me Fear Fokol,(2) oligarchies crumble under verse,
Maspalas (3) fade into dust while marimbas (4) endure,
They misquote me all the time,vorstaan vokol, dololo (5)
Still I forgive them
I did not write for cabinets,but for fevered hearts,
For the silenced whistleblower humming my forbidden name-
My Laurel burns bright like White City Jabavu (6)
Explanation of click sounds of my home village:
1. Gin!Gin!I love You!-This is the safest way for friends visiting to pronounce uMgungundlovu District Municipality in KwaZulu-Natal Province,South Africa. For God's sake leave the pronouncing alone if you're tipsy and you're walking on a slippery road.
2. Fear Fokol: means Fear Nothing and is what the honorable ministers like to call themselves when they intimidate each in their sardine rush to see who can loot from the public purse in record time,as soon as they are appointed to positions of power.
3. Maspalas: Municipality/Municipalities in disguise but in reality crime scenes of assassinations,etc,etc
4. Marimbas: Musical instrument you want played day when you marry or go on a hot date.
5. vorstaan-understand/comprehend
vokol-nothing
dololo-like previous.But ask the Nigerians/West Africans
6. White City,Jabavu-There' an ongoing beef between me and W C J if explain now that exposes my location to my ex and somebody will lose big time.
I slowly count back from ten to one,
with closed eyes I watch the setting sun.
Breathing deeply as my heart begins to slow.
No regrets from now, all is done with nothing to show.
That grand door opens and I walk through,
a room with a view, a place that I always knew.
Uncertainty overwhelms, but I'm comforted by familiar sights.
I glide through the inevitable at ever growing heights.
Light surrounds me and I see truth in myself,
I then realise who I am and my great internal wealth.
Money has no place as this is beauty divine.
I hold that thought of joy as I drink a glass of fine wine.
My thoughts are my own and they belong to me,
It will be my duty to show them for all to see.
We all hold the key to a part of life not yet known,
It will be your turn too, to have them shown.
Looking beyond my known beliefs that naturally defend
I see a world so flawless, you would never comprehend.
Satin breeze, cotton clouds and angelic music all around
Limitless beauty from the trees, the sky and everything is profound.
I count from one to ten then I wake once more.
it's been almost one year since our members at there jobs were locked outside
but 32 BJ doesn't back down, we don't bend over and sure as hell don't hide
we stand strong in our convictions, we stand firm in our resolve
and our eyes are on the prize until we get this contract situation solved
so we say this to management, "we're not going away"
we are 32BJ and in your face we will stay
so let go of your selfish greed you need to simply see
we're more than just a union we are family
and as we stand here today in protest of the injustice that's been done
we are claiming the victory for the battle has been won
eventually manangement will comprehend and come to realize
we are 32 BJ and our eyes are on the prize
DID YOU GIVE LIFE
ALL YOU COULD GIVE?
DO YOU REGRET
THE LIFE YOU LIVE?
DID YOU TAKE TIME
TO SAY HELLO
FROM ATOP A MOUNTAIN
LOOKING DOWN BELOW?
HAVE YOU STOOD
ON THE OCEANS SHORE
EMBRACE AND LISTEN
TO THE OCEANS ROAR?
GAZE THE SKIES
AND STARS ABOVE
RESEARCH THE MEANING
OF TRUE LOVE?
DID YOU RELINQUISH TIME
TO SMELL THE FLOWERS
UNDERSTAND
THEIR HEALING POWERS?
HAVE YOU EVER SEEN
A REDWOOD TREE?
CAN 400 YEARS
BE HARD TO BELIEVE?
ARE YOU WILLING TO WALK
ACROSS THIS LAND
TO COMPREHEND
JUST WHERE YOU STAND?
ARE YOU EXPERIENCED
WITH THUNDERSTORMS
WHERE LIGHTNING AND THUNDER
ARE JUST THE NORM?
CAN YOU SURVIVE
A WINTER FREEZE
AND STILL ENJOY
A SUMMER BREEZE?
GIVE THANKS, GIVE THANKS
TO THE LORD ABOVE
HE GIVES YOU LIFE
TO SHARE THE LOVE.
I can hardly wait reading welter of books...
courtesy Karen Windle a gift horse
ponied up late afternoon May18th, 2020
over roan nay bore lee volition.
Unbeknownst how she raised (cane),
and loudly wrapped outside the door
every ounce of her eighty plus pounds
slip of elderly lady petite bow legged
spry late 60's though older looking gal
argh – I expect unpleasant fallout after
piercing eyes unexpectedly discover
references made regarding aged waif,
who inexplicably signalled presence
in toto i.e. presents to comprehend, a
bounty, nah, not worth causing mutiny
nevertheless heave on lee delight hup
pea zing helter skelter discombobulated
alienation courtesy coronavirus lockdown
concomitantly venues to borrow books
puts serious and perilous bind aggravated
assault upon cerebral cortex regarding a
forced hiatus deprivation to binge read
reduced to peruse the daily toilet paper
no stimulation for imagination to indulge
magical mystery tour thwarted helter skelter
ye silently ask rather infer "what me bored?"
Despite severely circumscribed choices
whiling away hours, who knows lockdown
courtesy coronavirus (COVID-19)
warrants near indefinite closure accessing
literary material buzzfeeding noggin,
an egg gone eye zing torture rankles
healthy predilection to binge osmotically
passion for written word all the while
authors unbeknownst evoke quintessential
pleasant provocation dredging up
10,000 leagues below the jewel bedecked
cease son bewitched (Alder time) tremendous
metaphorical pristine hinterlands
Matthew Scott's vernacular semantic
hodgepodge orientation withered away
figurative gripes wrath and rail against
series of unfortunate events ala defiant
Lemony Snicket, when despair plummeted
to all time low, who should unwittingly
telepathically hear plaintive SOS sent
none other than intrepid Karen Windle,
who's mysteriously rapping announced
dog send appearance bore deliverance
(cue Banjos), where ecstasy didst delve
where still waters run deep, nevertheless
welcome respite when printed material
weekly magazines offered scant respite.