Long Connections Poems
Long Connections Poems. Below are the most popular long Connections by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Connections poems by poem length and keyword.
Fate; is it something near or that afar?
Is it carved in stone or written in sand?
Eternal wonder — space surrounds the star.
Cosmos; uniquely dealt to each a hand.
Dearest Mother Earth, is my father...Time?
I feel that both have connections with me—
this search for myself spent stuttering “I’m”...
Depths of both filled with reflections of me!
Fight or flight? Still; bipolar gravity—
a chain of events logic can’t equate...
Metaphysical or analogy?
Alice? Atlas? Parallel postulate!
Mysterious. Civil poor are battling.
Affluence. Civil war foreshadowing.
November 27, 2020
“A Foreshadowing”
Edward Ibeh
To give is to gain
in the eyes of the mind
of a soul that is honest
and loving and kind.
It's fair to expect
that you get what you give
as your life is a measure
of morals you live.
What do we gain
when were willing to give?
What force feeds the soul
in our willing to live?
When given the chance
of a lifetime to choose,
our hope is the treasure
our hearts cannot lose.
Like a torch we pass down
to each, one by one.
To mothers as daughters
and fathers as sons,
a hope burning brightly,
a steady flame fast,
the strength of our future
through hope from our past.
We pass on these ways
without saying a word
as actions speak louder
and clearly are heard.
The examples are set
by the actions we choose,
without even thinking
of what we could lose
What is the worth
in the willing to give?
What is the point
of our purpose to live?
We give with the hope
of a better tomorrow.
To give up our hope
were are certain for sorrow
What is the cost
when we won't even try?
To give up our hope
and eventually die?
We break the connections
that keep us in sync,
a game of survival
that's lived on the brink.
All things find death
in the journey of life.
Hope is the light
through the darkness of strife.
We give and we gain,
give up and we lose.
What we will give
shapes the world that we choose.
- Jeannie Minor
There comes a season
when your spirit gets tired
of surface-level conversations
and people who only know how to love you
in convenience.
I know—
sometimes healing is learning
how to close the door gently
without reopening it out of guilt.
Some of the deepest wounds
came from friendships
that taught me what
abandonment sounds like
in human form.
And somehow?I kept shrinking myself?to fit inside connections?that could not hold my full weight.
But healing—?real healing—?is noticing how your
nervous system?begins to rest?around people who do not
compete with your light.
I am no longer searching
For temporary chemistry.
I want soul-level alignment
the right friendships?do not arrive as chaos.
They arrive like clarity.?
Like peace sitting down beside you?and saying,
“You no longer have to perform here.”
I seek to attract people?who understand reciprocity.?Who celebrate healing?instead of mocking it.
I seek connections?Who bring depth?instead of distraction.
Because I have suffered enough?to know this truth:
Not everyone deserves access to your becoming.
And the people meant for your life?will never ask you?to abandon yourself?just to keep them.
I realize the only way for the
Grass to become greener on the other side
Is if each side pours into each other
to help the grass grow.
SOMETIMES CHAOS
by:May Reign
Rewritten By: Poetic-Life
August 18,2020
They say sometimes Chaos is the only thing that gets your attention, This is the most I’ve heard prayer mentioned, Maybe our lowest point brings us ascension, And maybe there’s a message in this madness, A silver lining in all this sadness,
I’m not suggesting that I know the cause, Just recognizing the benefit of pause, And disconnect, To correct the affects, We moving too fast, Now here we are, Forced to smell the roses, Forced to respect the thorns, Mass hysteria and shortage of face masks, To reveal the truth is we already had mask on, Pretending that we welcome days of isolation, And “no new friends “ became a mantra for this generation, I thought social media already made real connections nonexistent, Thought we could easily adjust to social distance,
But the truth is we miss being touched and hugged, And maybe when this is over we will seek, The connections that we need more of, Maybe this is what we’re supposed to do, Spend more time with those close to you, Regular check in’s with your friends, Even when the party ends, Get to yourself in depths,The clarity in retrospect, Realize that health is wealth, Understand that music and artistry, Is the heartbeat of our community, And love is our only source of immunity,
By: May Reign
Rewritten By: Poetic-Life
August 18,2020
Success in my hand
The power and the glory
On top of the world
I am invincible; me
The little ones left
by the wayside without care
I take what I want
and to hell with their despair
for my life is mine
and I do not care for them
they raised me up high
and now there's no need of them.
their pitiful cries
as they ask for my help; no
they are beneath me
I'm on top of my game; go
they should work harder
for I have attained it all
their jealous actions
they can't wait to see me fall
And fall I did for...
I discarded my support
there was no one left
to encourage through nought
I was abandoned
and fury; my demeanour
for once I had all
but my loss is now keener
struggling to rise up
cannot bear to look, to start
reclusive I am
the world I knew fell apart
avoiding my life
as I sit in the darkness
squandering choices
hiding from my own smartness
and do nothing but
nothing for that catharsis
depression my friend
the filth it stacks up; a mess
I cannot clean it
the will has left, I have stress
no need to arise
There is no appointment set
lay here, die in shame
for a prouder time frames bet
energised to sloth
I have become the mundane
through lust; greed attained
I kept it all, unshared, vain
And wallow in self
My shame defined - reality
To those I have hurt
discarded and used, malady
I need you all now
If only you'd forgive me
but here I sit; spent
I'm denied all connections
and life passes by alone.
25/10/2018 - Edward Ibeh
What do you do when words are pale
Inadequate to the task
Emotions not fully expressed
Plucking from my mind
Wishing for my best
Yet lacking
Not flowing
Where will I look
Within or without
I feel overwhelmed
Not able to contain
Still not sure where to look
Words dribbled on a page
Wishing to fly
Yet left in a pile
Who will shuffle through my thoughts
Bring them to life
Taste my salty tears
Laugh at my disjointed jokes
Sing my tuneless songs
Understand
Care
Oh how I long to be loved
So I write
Write some more
Eject another piece of my core
Still somehow
Words are just not enough
I sit and ponder
The universe
The connecting of all
Before and after
The things that will come
What part will I play
Will God hear me pray
Bring color to my words
Let them gush forth
Travel to distant lands
Light screens in strangers hands
Friends I have yet to meet
Hoping they won't hit delete
Conversations
Connections
Distance offers protection
Perhaps in the end
Words will be enough
I will continue to write
Until my final breath
In hopes that one day
I capture my thoughts
Maybe then I'll be free
No longer limited by me
There in the distance I can see
The words I seek
Written in some other hand
So I drink
I am satisfied
The world of words
Individualized
Speaking to me
Helping me breath
So it goes
Like oceans
Words ebb and flow
Now I know
My inside starts to grow
We all sing together
In strange harmony
You are you and I am me
Together many are we
What was then has become now
Sometimes I wonder how
Each forms a branch on the tree
We call poetry
This thing that grows
Out of our creativity
Somehow in the end
What's inadequate
Becomes just enough
Poetry is imagery –
butterflies, twilight, the ocean, clouds, meadows, a gnarly oak.
Poetry is colors –
the powder blue of the sky, the verdant greens of grasses, a pink tongue.
Poetry is metaphors, personification, iambic pentameter, rhymes, rhythm.
Poetry is heightened feelings, solid connections, feelings of love, loss, betrayal.
Poetry is limericks –
making you smile, titter, laugh full out with a braying noise.
Poetry is relating to others – their pain, their joy, mostly their everyday self.
When I began writing poetry, I was not writing it at all.
I thought I was but I was writing prose, hoping it was poetry.
Poetry readers are unusually soft-hearted and kind.
They began helping me.
They encouraged me, uplifted me, made suggestions,
but kindly and in sweet ways.
They showed me what poetry is when I read their poems.
I was learning at a high rate of speed,
for I took to them, and they took to me.
I had found my tribe,
and I recognized it immediately.
So now I am a poet, still in complete awe of the nuances of poetry,
and humbly thankful for the poets who helped me become a poet.
Haven't written about love for days
Could be at least one or two
So here we go, I'm back at it again
Get ready to go “aww” and drool
What d'ya get when you cross Happy Jack
With a charmer, well here's the scoop
A fairy tale romance of a long distant kind
One that's knocked me for a loop
One of those cyberspace love connections
Not naming names but she's so sweet
Now I've got ya all guessing real hard
Well I'm sorry, must be discreet
Innocent attractions are bound to happen
When free to express one's feelings
It allows us to convey our loving thoughts
To someone we find appealing
Innocence is the keyword on which I insist
But it sure gets my old heart pumping
With words of love and overwhelming passion
Harmless but it sure keeps me humming
The resemblance of the omnipotence imprinted
With rare colours and shades elegantly tinted
Cherubims and seraphs adorn my being's core.
Like the capacious cosmos, I am in candour.
Senses surpass the physique and touch the psyche.
Wisdom arises beyond my likes and dislikes.
Allure becomes affection. Lust turns into love.
Divine graces, like monsoon rains, fall from above.
Consciousness and unconsciousness seem to conflict.
Connections of clear conscience, yet, within, get flicked
Like the lustre of the sun, the moon, and the stars
Rays of virtue erase naiveté’s sombre scars.
I am on earth and in heaven at the same time.
Body and soul, like church bells, are in tuneful chime.
What's heaven and hell when divine presence pervades?
The grimness of death and grave becomes godly glades.
“How you decide to fit, factor, and finesse this precarious situation is up to you, and you alone.”
She turned and glared at me, stomped over in an angry way, and sat down hard on her throne.
The Queen mother, a unique personality in her own right, said, “Is everything okay?” as she peered in the throne room door.
Apparently she had heard her daughter gallivanting around the room, throwing and slamming things
A few minutes before.
“It’s marvelous, Mother!” Marianne said in a nonchalant way, reveling no true feelings.
The Queen mother was not fooled. She looked at me, rolled her eyes mouthed “good luck” and
Went out through the ceiling.
Only bats can do this trick, so it’s lucky that we are all bats here, bats filled with ecstasy about the possible romantic connections we are making.
Now I’m being facetious since the Bat Princess is not about to acquiesce in this situation, and neither is the bat Prince, she seems to be nefariously engaged to by way of Daddy King.
I am hoping and praying that I will not have the opportunity or foresight to be anywhere around
When their next rendezvous at the Ring-A-Ding.
It’s rather unfortunate I am that both are my cousin, and I have somehow been thrown into the middle.
Confidentially, I’d rather be home planting a garden, shampooing my hair, or re-stringing a fiddle.
Prayers please for the bearer of the bad news, which is of course, the one who cannot keep a secret, little ole’ me
I know better too. I’ve been in this situation before. What good came out of the telling? Nothing I can truthfully see.
May 9, 2018