Long Consciences Poems
Long Consciences Poems. Below are the most popular long Consciences by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Consciences poems by poem length and keyword.
So what brought you back here after twelve long years; what brought you back here when you don’t have any good news to share?
You run the company bone dry and suddenly took off to the sky. You have been living a life filled with luxury, hosting executive dinners and weekly exorbitant party. Pretty women dining on your lawn and men caught up in a brawl, exhibiting colorful socks and advertising their mother’s frock, the moment was rare but there was more to share.
So what brought you back here when you have nothing to fear, what brought you back here when the message is already clear? You have made a fortune from me to access my personal diary, you have used all my thoughts to buy house, land and property, limousine and an island across the stream and a big development called mountain of the past.
you have manipulated my words and distribute it around the world and when you get rich you throw my document in the ditch and then you come back here to continue your ridiculous irony.
See the cabinet sitting over there, it is filled with documents dates back for more than thirty years, you have build bridges and factories, trains airplanes, buses, trucks and van, development across the land and construction dating back for more than thirty years with my word running down those pages.
The words that make you into a man the words that cause you to stand, the words that send your family to school and the word that provide your daily food.
For what reason did you come back here? to drag me out into the street and disrupt my heart beat? I am just an island sitting in the sun without an amour or a gun, you have been so discrete, and I will not stop until you settle every penny you earn in the street and the sleepless night I stood on my feet, you will have to answer to the sky and compensate the people before you die.
See those people standing in line, that reaches the center of the universe, they are willing to stand there until daylight just to mark the x to remove you from that artificial intelligence desk.
Let your conscience speak to tend to matters, let your consciences speak to deal with what is proper; one group is moving out of town and I don’t know where they are bound , they are honking their horn but destiny will meet them before dawn for what reason did you come back here.
The ultimate test of the times:
United in togetherness
We stand tall with heads held high
Shoulders back
Chests out
Lined up straighter than arrows
With the forward mindset
Locked and loaded on
Our target for success!
Deal with this they said:
"Right is wrong and wrong is right
Up is down, in is out
What we once smiled at
Is now frowned upon."
Do I have your attention?
We have been educated
With the unbridled knowledge
Of our ancestors and the experience
Of our predecessors from the
Injustice they've suffered
But yet have soldiered on
Valorous in spirit.
Even though "Willie" still lives to this day.
Giving up or out
Isn't in our vocabulary
One hand reaches out to the next
And so forth and so on
We came here together
We fight here today
We leave when tomorrow comes
When there's no one left to stay
When rapturous spirits
Ascend into the Heavens
Or the "syndrome" never again sees
The light of day.
Do I still have your attention?
The reward is not a precious metal
But the feeling in your soul
As peace settles
And takes residence in your life.
Smiles and clear consciences
Aid in the balancing of educating
Youthful minds as they set forth
On their journey through life.
So when it's their turn to
Be called upon to continue on
They too will be
United in togetherness
Standing tall with heads held high
Shoulders back
Chests out
Lined up straighter than arrows
With the forward mindset
Locked and loaded on
Their target for success.
"What's forward is now backwards
It's every man for himself."
Do I still have your attention?
With one hand reaching out to the next
And so forth and so on
We have educated them
With the unbridled knowledge
Of their ancestors and the experience
Of their predecessors from the
Injustice they've suffered
But have soldiered on
Valorous in spirit.
Because in today's world
Where a society has embraced the negative
Allowed the unjustified killing of innocents
During "routine" traffic stops
Forever traumatizing families and
Blatantly decriminalizing witnessed guilt
Where known killers still walk the streets
And will never serve a day of time
A truthful insight is the only way
To keep our children ours.
We shouldn't have to
Read between the lines for anything
But now that you have
Isn't it worth your attention?
I can see them
Clouds of voracity
Covering my stars
Shadowing my reality
These civilized consciences
Have raped my protest
Have spun my web
I can no longer pacify
The tenacious circle of hate
That daily haunts me-
The deprived race
What is it I longed to be
Where come this aggressive reticence
Why this intellectual lock-jaw
I longed to be an alcoholic
I longed to join in the ecstatic dance
I longed to leap into the unknown
To preserve my ancestral pride
Neither did I know
I had no ancestry
I belonged
Not to the human race.
I could no longer trade
That rotting corpse of ancestry
For a dream
Nor could my voice
Accentuated by gesture
Give sacramental significance
To the ailing corpse
I bled from my wounds
I choked in your bonds
I baked in your avarice
How infinite this unity
Of free slaves!
How therapeutic
This hibernation!
They preached brotherhood
Their god issued
Commandments of charity
Which they conveniently
Reserved for the virgins
The silent majority
These invertebrate disturbers of peace
Must always answer with a nod
To those honeyed phrases
Which phased out moral indignation
Only to usher spiritual aberration
The saints had to turn the other cheek
I resigned from imagining, designing
Protesting and even dreaming
Into the routine of living
Without emotional wavelength-
A kind of unconsciousness
What do you say, brother
Should we take flight to freedom
Flee this intellectual tyranny
And accumulated weariness
Should we indulge our consciences
Can one dream thus
Dream of the miracles
They craned their necks
Dream of the great darkness
The ends of the universe
Dream of the wonderment
Of transcendent realms
Is there anything beyond
This shadowy future
Is there another universe
For the spider?
I queried thus and thus
In my ice-age mind
Whereupon emanated
Vast ramifications
Spinning a web for me-
A universe
Beyond which loomed
Irrational extraneous universes
Was that a miracle
Was that nature
Were those her snares
Perpetually gnawing my reality
Could those questions be answered
With a nod- however studied?
Come individuality
Remove these tenterhooks
Let me leap into a new rhythm
Let me split the capsule
And witness how long
The trip of human triumph.
(Apartheid era stuff)
God of Abrahan, Isaac, and Jacob,
God of the White Man and Indian,
You are the God of the *****,
who created all people of one blood.
You are not divided; you are One God.
The ***** was made in your image,
and crowned with glory and honor.
He is superior or inferior to none,
but by your design, equal to all.
Our fathers were hauled from their homeland,
huddled into the hull of ships like cargo,
and transported across the oceans.
They were sold into slavery and savaged.
Then they cried to You in their affliction,
and you showed up and succored them.
Those who enslaved them became slaves.
They worshipped mammon and spurned You.
Their hearts became hard as a hammer,
and their consciences were corrupted.
Our fathers found in You all they needed.
You were their joy in sorrow,
freedom during slavery,
comfort in times of grief,
and strength when they were powerless.
In the crucible of chattel slavery
and the furnace of forced labor,
You forged the ***** into a strong,
Spiritual, resilient, and resourceful being.
Like a Phoenix, he has risen from the ashes,
with a passion fueled by the fire in his bosom,
and a purpose piloted by the pain of the past.
With Your help, the ***** has taken his place,
as an equal among the people of the world.
But alas, success has turned many away from you.
They claim to have pulled themselves up with their bootstrap.
Like their masters who worshipped Mannon,
they are educated, their pockets are full,
but their hearts are lonely, and their souls are empty.
They have arrived at their Promised Land,
and discovered a barren wasteland,
watered by lust that never satisfies,
and proffering pleasures that pauperize and pain.
Black Man, turn to your God.
*****, acknowledge your Creator.
Without Him, you are a shell of a man,
a figment of your imagination,
a fraction of what you were created to be.
Value the virtues bequeathed by your fathers.
Build on the foundation they laid.
They trusted in God and He helped them.
They discovered that the God of the Hebrews,
the God of the White Man, and the Indian,
is the God of the *****.
Heroes of my age in their morning mourn,
Filled with teardrops of pain and sorrow,
They'll be now part of the epic history,
But the cloudiness of who ones's fault still remains a doubt for justice,
When all lies in secrecy,
Can we blame peace and harmony?
Where we are all thirsty.
The masters of war behind the walls,
Safe and sound from the bullets of death,
The heroes in order and duty,
When guns can't do anything for victory,
When bullets can't do anything for survival,
They hide behind the seeds, behind the prayers
Behind the first fallen hero.
They, who are grabby for one's life, for one's blood,
Thirsty for distraction of one's covenant,
They, who pulled the trigger, who ought killing is a game,
Shooting one's body as if a little toy,
Like the Trojan war of old, was trapped and deceived.
Will their consciences arrest them?
Will forgiveness forgives them?
When they will die?
In service, for security the heroes died,
To sacrifice one's life in the name of duty,
A peace we wish is a peace they're yearning?
Or an inside job for another piece of power?
Who knows, we only care
But the Man can see them behind their masks,
Through their eyes, inside their brains.
The agony and heartaches they leave behind,
The scars that'll bleed for justice and life,
For the woman of love, alone in coldest times,
Somehow tears may dry by the aging of time.
For the cries of baby longing for daddy,
Searching for brawny arms that will lift them,
The baritone voice that will laugh with them.
Now change of path, life will never be the same,
The light will also be now the wall.
All will pass, all will calm like an ocean after the storm,
But justice still pursuits justice, must not hide from another demise,
Will give them the truth? Will the lives be not wasted?
Afraid for this will be one of the unresolved cases,
Repeats the failure of my Country,
Their coffins, their graveyards, in memoirs for the heroes
Once the stewards of us, once the fathers of Country
Worthy of prayers -for them, for families and for justice.
We salute the Fallen!
What special touches - the eyes, the mouth, his hands.
The brushes illuminate the solid ground - his walk.
Invisible beings painted in, sentries stand by, awaiting
his slightest command. The diablos stands by too,
mocking each mark of Jesus’ path, for he holds on tight
to the wretched and weak beings, the easily tempted,
the hungry beggars, the lame, suffering and sick.
The scorch of Christ’s touch, as he heals Adams and Eves,
the liar does not like this, not one little bit. The release
of light into their eyes, the clearing of their consciences,
bitterness fleeing, wounds sealed up as if they never existed.
The howling of a wanderer in this cursed earth. He recalls
those gentle eyes, those wise words, the beauty of the garden.
The horn’d reject can only wind around weeds, thorns, hollowed
branches - something that would make mankind’s skin crawl.
Christ’s see-through hands, reach out and touch, lepers
and lowly woman bereft of freedom. When his mouth moves
the inner universe of each soul either erupts or folds.
The son’s magnificent eyes made of gold, shine as the Father of lights.
Holy Spirit comfort radiates the passion of warmth and O
when he weeps, the impression of Rembrandt’s plates sear.
Multitudes of destitute and growling tummies follow his beat.
When he speaks of eating his flesh and drinking his blood
the murmuring crowd, much like the Israelites in the desert,
turn their backs, with no understanding of the Mannah’s lips.
The dozen choose him. Who else shall we go to. We know you.
Although one is a plant, a weed himself. Should we feel sorry
for the gold digger? He oft shakes the communal bag, opens
and sifts it like sand, retrieving a couple grains. If he only knew
the cost. O the cost! Did he steal the tithe? The ten percent
would be like quicksand. The devil would leave him hanging.
What special touches - the eyes, the mouth, his hands.
The brushes illuminate the solid ground - his walk.
Christ’s frame humble and confident, his mission to save.
2/1/2021
Giving thanks unto the eternal inheritance
Brought forth by the sacrifice of Christ
The consuming fire to burn away weeds and thorns
Separating the wheat from the chaff
That one might be a dwelling place
For the promised spirit to reign.
Christ has the keys to set one free
Submitting unto the Holy Spirit
To place all enemies under the foot
Which is old self or darkness trying to reign
When one receives vision of the evil
And deception of lies under the sun
That one once was apart of
But has found there is a new creation
Being formed not taught of man.
Old covenant turned into New covenant
Old self being transformed into New living being
This is the covenant I will make with the people of Israel after that time,” declares the Lord. “I will put my law in their minds and write it on their hearts. I will be their God, and they will be my people. No longer will they teach their neighbor, or say to one another, ‘Know the Lord,’ because they will all know me, from the least of them to the greatest,” declares the Lord. “For I will forgive their wickedness and will remember their sins no more.”
Jeremiah 31:33?-?34 NIV
Now the first covenant had regulations for worship and also an earthly sanctuary. A tabernacle was set up. In its first room were the lampstand and the table with its consecrated bread; this was called the Holy Place. But when Christ came as high priest of the good things that are now already here, he went through the greater and more perfect tabernacle that is not made with human hands, that is to say, is not a part of this creation. How much more, then, will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself unblemished to God, cleanse our consciences from acts that lead to death, so that we may serve the living God!
Hebrews 9:1?-?2?, ?11?, ?14 NIV
Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies.
1 Corinthians 6:19?-?20 NIV
Form:
Lili Marlene
In times of war, love can subdue cynical adversaries
(Men separated from their vocation, now filled with hatred)
And quell the beast inside their misdirected hearts,
And free their consciences, to allow sorrows’ comfort.
A noisy silence pervades the barracks’ atmosphere,
Where soldiers stir, stuffing duffel bags and miscellaneous,
While others reminisce, writing letters; maybe their last.
And await further orders for Western and Eastern Fronts, or Africa.
From Belgrade, a woman’s voice over the airwaves is transmitted,
Allowing a moment of silence and reflection for those listening
Alone; spiritually uplifted in memories of better times,
Who seek a reason to justify this madness of sacrifice.
“My Dearest Marlene,” the pen begins when all hell breaks out.
By bomb flashes bright bloody hands write, then the pen stops;
“Until we meet again underneath the corner light,
Like we used to do, my Lili Marlene.”
***
Note:
'Lili Marlene' is a German love poem set to music by Norbert Schultze (1911-2002) in 1938 based on the poem 'The Song of a Young Soldier On Watch. written by Hans Leip (1893-1963) in 1915 during World War I. The song was first recorded by Lala Andersen (1905-1972) in 1939 under the title 'The Girl Under the Lamps”' which became popular during World War II (1939-1945) among the Axis and Allied troops. The song was first broadcasted by the German Radio Belgrade station throughout Europe and North Africa, following the Nazi occupation of Belgrade in 1941.
Marlene Dietrich (1901–1992) was the daughter of a Prussian officer. She refused to work in Nazi Germany, and was branded a traitor by Nazi supporters when she became an American citizen in 1937. She made over 500 performances entertaining Allied troops from 1943 to 1946. Marlene Dietrich recorded the song in 1944 under the Decca Records (US) and Brunswick Records (UK), which was later released in 1945.
Vula Amehlo (open your eyes)
"Vula Amehlo"is Zulu for "open your eyes"
Vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
though eyes aren’t needed to behold
the flowing tears of those of us, left out in the cold
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
the time to turn your back is long gone
no time now to pander and no time now to fawn
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
we the people are hungry, angry, and our skin is torn
though we say it loudly, unbowed we are, and not forlorn
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
we may be invisible and tucked away far from you
but we are here, still, waiting for the promise of freedom to come true
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
you see us sometimes, though you avert your gaze
come on now, compatriots, awaken from your complacent daze
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
we are the open wound that festers on your ostentatious display
band-aids won’t do anymore, we are here, and we are here to stay
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
as you roll down your windows and toss us some coins, look in our eyes
we are your slumbering consciences, we are the famished proof of your lies
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
forget us not as you tuck your pretty children in, and turn off the lights
we too are the children whose mothers, fathers fought for all our peoples’ rights
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
don’t think that we are bitter and livid for no reason or cause
we have been waiting and waiting, for days and a decade, without any pause
vula amehlo
sisters and brothers
vula amehlo
mothers and fathers
vula amehlo
brown and white and all shades of this rainbow so bright
we repeat what we said, we are not going to melt away into the night
vula amehlo
one and all
our patience is being tested from day to day, year to year
we have listened to your promises and we now demand that you hear
vula amehlo
open your eyes
and see us, and hear us clearly, and hear us today
band-aids won’t do anymore, we are here, and we are here to stay
vula amehlo
open your eyes
Form:
"Apologizing never means you are right and the other person is wrong, it means you value the relationship more than your ego."
Believe me or not, a genuine sorry has those healing powers which can cure the wounds of even a bleeding heart.
So if you've hurted someone intentionally or unintentionally...just go and say a sorry. It won't take much but would give much more than you believe.
Even if you think you have not done anything, but know somewhere someone feels hurt because of you...try say it once...it might turn the things going wrong right.
A sorry is not just a word to try sort out the things but an inner peace...for you've told the person he/she means something and you to want to make a move.
Sorry....
One of the three basic words,
Part of etiquettes for lifetime,
A big and necessary word,
Which change its meaning,
Person to person & time to time.
I say sorry,
When I know I made a mistake,
To help me control the situation,
And avoid things to get worsen.
I say sorry,
When I realize I hurted someone,
To tell them my ego is not big,
And the relation is more important.
I say sorry,
When I understand that's only required,
To heal the pain of trembled heart,
And to endeavor for feel good factor.
I say sorry
Even if it's not required
To satisfy my guilty consciences
And break the silences.
But at times...
I don't say sorry,
As it proves my weakness,
Which will choke me to death,
If I tried swallow my pride.
I don't say sorry,
Even if my silence hurt someone,
Badly enough to leave a wound,
That will never let fill the time.
I don't say sorry,
Even when the time is right,
To just let go with the flow,
Till situations make themselves right.
But at any moment,
When my heart ponders,
I settle down to take a breath,
And look at the actions,
To evaluate the meaning,
Of every said and unsaid sorry,
That can peace the past,
Ease the present,
And help the future.