Long Conception Poems
Long Conception Poems. Below are the most popular long Conception by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Conception poems by poem length and keyword.
Cloudy day in my head,
Haunted by the words you said
Winter storm inside my mind,
I find them very hard to bind,
Gardens destroyed by mere perception,
Lost the will during conception,
How can I just simply be?
All that you expect from me,
How can I just clearly see?
The world of darkness inside of me,
Rainey times take over my soul
Stop the bleeding was my goal
But I can’t seem to pull together
Even if it’s us forever
How can I forget this mess?
Even if I know I’m blessed,
Icy moments in this cave,
Thaw me out before the grave,
Dreams of futures painted smiles,
I need you to clean these piles,
Dreams are spinning a silly web,
Eating every word you said,
For now,
So long.
I bend,
But I don’t brake.
Its truth,
That heals.
This pain,
I feel,
Farewell.
BY: SABINA NICOLE
Conception : bloodline memory, generational sin, twisted inheritance : whispers ,”you can’t choose, you won’t win,”.
Facing internal overflow, remains too high a goal , what is sown will surely grow.
Generations of people failing connect to correct what has happened; unfortunately will now become what is.
Self hate solidifies the ick, that eats the body from within. That elephant in the room, slowly begins to suffocates Gods knit together creation .
A babe born, a family riddled with chains unbroken: symptoms and signs slow and hidden,
such as a whiny child with unkept hair, with a restlessness , with desperate cries for attention.
This is not a child’s load to bare .
Disease lurks and feeds off of parental avoidance of their own adolescent despair.
DNA limitations and generational sin, oozes under layers of tissue, bone and skin. Producing generations of cancer, diabetes, depression al etched deep within.
Red flag warning: This is how it is , this how it’s been.
Genetically Hardwired to deceive , as the previous generations suffered immoral consequences, justifications and disease: all caused by generations of sin.
Bolstering belief that this family bloodline was created from sin.
Children are born and are meant to be essential,
Instead the light in their soul is dimmed
they have no idea that they hold unlimited God given potential.
Without someone to say, enough is enough,
This has to stop ,
the silent killer will continue with this notion
That No one in this family has any right to healthy promotion
Generational sin has been well camouflaged
Throughout the years of established wrongs and settled acceptance .
A routine life that consists of mediocre song and dance.
Don’t be fooled by this , you don’t have to remain in that dark grip,
you don’t have to accept what your parents and grandparents thought and did. Turn around and face your inner demons ,
Imposed limitations and generational sins
And say, “ I’m done, no more living this way, I’m gonna win, and overcome what my past generations have settled with, silently accepted sin. “
More than a hindered of them in colorful suits gathers in a room
Contemplating the replacement of an icon that has left us too soon the body did not get enough time to cool and there they are
casting lot over his dead body that lies still in the tomb
I am still figuring out how he died, when he has made so much sacrifice with my face buried in the soil I held my stomach and cry.
There was not even a semblance of dignity for his reign in the Vatican city, you have your design of what his replacement should be without understanding the architect of the world and what it beholds.
Throw back your head and look at the painting of the Sistine chapel above you and you will see Micheal Angelo gift to pope Julius the conception of the world before we were call boys and girls, man was naked in his form before the break of Dawm and out of this shape man and woman made appointment for the first date.
If you can see beyond the ceiling you will know that church is about spiritual healing and the sacrifice of the world was made by men women boys and girls and so the appointee one should understand the gender of the land place the love of humanity over all other priorities.
I can see two cardinals in the tree that have studied the world in various degree, the understand the people in it and the religions that comes with it; you will dismiss all the cardinals from the chapel by noon except for those two that will pray for spiritual discernment an and altar boy and a alter girl and a middle age woman will join with them evening and just that small group will make the selection before the break of the day.
Come and break bread with me and I will serve you a cup of tea
Wear something simple and comfortable for we will not ascend in the heavens, the universe has work to do and it is looking for people like me and you, so let’s begin before the day is through.
Plant wisdom in your head and walk with courage in your feet and the architect of the divine will make selection complete.
the creation tells a vivid story kind was born naked in their form with blood dripping at their feet.
Snapping fingers, a low hum in the microphone)
Hey, It's Café Jazz/ But we ain't just sipping black coffee and snapping our fingers in polite applause/
Talkin' Bop/ first idiom where being white wasn't the fast track to success/ Yeah, dig it/ Bop was the soundtrack/ To anxieties, to late nights, to dreams deferred/
A nervous tremor in the rhythm/ Hard to play/ Man, you don't even KNOW. Only Bird, Diz, Miles...a constellation of cats burning bright, digging deep into a new conception in jazz/
A new hip way/ The hard Bop LP Clifford Brown and Max Roach, Study in Brown, 1955?
Got heads blown right off/ This isn’t just music, see?/
It's talkin' 'bout you, talkin' 'bout me/ talkin' 'bout life getting ready to take on a new form/ Be-Bop Creating a dialogue in Blending ideas, twisting sounds, birthing a style from the after-hours jam sessions at Minton’s Playhouse, Harlem/
Extreme virtuosity/ blistering speed/ /dissonant chords/ chordal substitutions – a vocabulary of rebellion/
Offbeat piano action, more action, SUPA DUPA HIGH VOLTAGE, MAN! Scorching tempos mirrored the doped-up lives...the pain... the desperation...of some Bop masters/
Even the beat poets... yeah, they copped the style/ the wicked mix of horn blowin' break-your-freakin'-neck speed, the Bop notes bleeding into their verses/ Jazz poetry on fire/
Did Bop influence Lenny Bruce? while doin’ a A-bomb of Heroin and Marijuana in the back of the room of his late night gig/
Is you black, or is you white?/
That question still under the skin of Jazz America/ still inching, scratching, Racism out of jazz/
Where are the jazz lords of the in-between at?/
What's the jazz world like today? Well, your ride is way clean, man/ got the chrome shinin', the leather gleamin'/ but… your gas tank is on E. (Silence, save for the click of the microphone being switched off)
"What is life but a succession of preludes to unwritten words . . . "
Quote by_Constance La France
BLANK PAGES OF A DOORMAT
a touch of emotion is what she’s after…his touch a fire
lit inside their combatant stoves…pen ought to inspire
tit and tat attention, enclosed in verbal laundromat -
mumbling and tumbling inside - the words of a doormat
no conception in this tight-fisted vestibule - counselor points
to a list of verbs, nouns, adjectives - each word disappoints
11/14/2022
WRITING CHALLENGE - ''V'' Forms
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Writing
Trees do sway in the bitter-cold breeze, a field full of snow to the naked eye, it does please.
Hark the angel, carol singers do praise his holiness, holly holly on which the child does pierce his finger; the scent of the dog's trail does linger. Many a traveller did avoid the road but the truck driver like Saint Nicolas must deliver his load.
Fire ablaze in every house, left over pie did attract more than one mouse.
A jovial jocular month spent with gratitude in God's giving and grace
where around the tree children do challenge and chase.
Love and laughter to rejoice this year, a baby in a cradle to shed a momentous tear.
Winter wonder did delight, the star lit sky was all so bright.
Where angels on his immaculate conception sing throughout the night, a season in which to celebrate with a welcome heart-rendering reason
Man, seldom a straightforward animal,
Long lost in the deserts of weariness,
Wants to flee from a life of denial,
Wallows no less still in piles of warm ash,
And feeling hurt, he nurses hidden strife,
Busy harming the self his very own
With some weird philosophy of life
That plunges him in world to him unknown.
World’s in world-wide pain as per German tongue—
Weltschmerz, modern word coined by Jean Richter,
And weltanschauung, one more and also young,
A vast field where the world’s lost in welter.
We see pain, angst in many urchins’ eyes
That beg for crumbs and still cherish a dream,
A look that child's raw innocence espies
Still, aims one day to claim his choicest cream.
Eyes of a house-help show this no less clear
Than householder’s deeply dunk in hardship,
Both dream of making good, both gag a tear,
None of them knows to laugh nor freely weep.
Take daily grind— working in rank odour,
Pitiable public passage, crowded
Journeys, jostles—the rush for earning bread,
The woes of world seen seldom ever ere.
Take a mid-age man, ill at ease, in mime,
And women, hair-dyed, face done up, pushing,
Prancing, pretending having a great time,
What with sad eyes, drunk or doped still showing.
In false bluster, all these men and women,
Unable, woes of their harsh life to change,
Mock at the dangers in a disco den,
And behave in ways bordering on strange,
Running away from reality's face,
Hiding their pain, they try hard to escape—
Escape from this never-ending rat-race,
Yet, cannot stop this reality's rape.
The truth of truth: we all passengers are
On a galloping horse on hire, Desire,
Maverick, even as a movie star,
Rich much as poor, all plunged in a deep mire.
Fortunate few that might face no travails—
The rich Americans— spending today,
Which, for long years their progeny might pay,
Who’d survive this rat race that all us ails?
They that cherish weird dreams and chase mirage,
Not else but very own future mortgage.
________________________________________
Ode |05.10.2011, revised, June 2023| dreams
Poet’s note: Weltschmerz: (welt = world, schmertz = pain), apathetic or vaguely yearning outlook on life, and weltanschauung: (welt = world, anschauung = perception), philosophy of life, conception of the world.
My hands
are
shaking
I
love you
unconditionally
Why?
Because
my
babies
You are
the world
to me
Beloved
because
I know
no bounds
Such a
sweething
Your
being
my sweet
ecstasy
I held
you
in
my arms
at
your
conception
Looking
deeply
into
the eyes
of your
beginning
Hoping
beyond
all
reason
for your
release
and
believing
by
looking
for the
beauty
I had to
recover
in being
your
Mom
It was
so
overwhelming
But
I did
the best
I could
under
the
circumstances
Giving
you hugs
and kisses
And waiting
for the day
Walking in
loving ways
You would
remember
that we had
these
brighter days
before there
was Hell
to pay
Please
my babies
hold on
to those
brighter days
before
your
father called
on his
sick pay
and left us
standing
in his
sociopath ways
He'll get his
DAY
The time
I call
HELL DAY
WITH PAY
,
A catholic priest from the Scottish highlands,
Scotus treaded a nonconformist philosophic path,
deviating from the high middle age mainstream,
for his doctrines of realistic beliefs he was maligned.
Digressing from the prevalent dualist tenet of his times,
he denied the distinction between essence and existence,
the abstract concept of living in monism perception
led him to propose the notion of univocity of being.
He countered the contention of divine illumination,
ensuring derivation of precise and pure knowledge,
in situations where the thinking process was fallible,
like the rejection of immaculate conception of Mary.
Proponent of metaphysical introspect contemplation,
for him theology was the practical science of God,
deciding the ultimate union of the liberated soul
with the divine trinity through love in the eternity.
________________
March 25, 2022
Contest : John Duns Scotus
Sponsored by : Joe Maverick
I hear your heart beat
Pounding inside my head
A deafening aria
Vibrating every cell and nerve within
Reverberations of passion
Echoing down the celestial corridors
Of my brain
I hear your thoughts
Screaming in my ear
Like the gushing solar winds
Whipping and whistling
Through the cold blackness of space
As it cries out in ecstasy
I feel the soft touch of your skin
As your spirit enters my body
And embraces my soul
In its loving arms
I smell the sweet scent
Of your body on mine
And the taste of your desire
While consuming the very essence of your being
As we become one.
Exploding like a super nova
And sending ripples of desire and passion
Throughout the expanse of our very existence
And giving birth to a love
That can be felt light years away
From our own realities
A conception of universal beauty
Growing into a world
Of everlasting peace and happiness
Form: