Long Consequence Poems
Long Consequence Poems. Below are the most popular long Consequence by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Consequence poems by poem length and keyword.
Walking through the contemporary gallery of poems as theme,
where images are painted by the soul with words in a frame.
The calming thoughts like woven sound of streams,
the innermost sense in philosophical conduct it seems.
Pictures and images expressing those radical hues,
suspended emotion and feelings have the double base of blues.
Awareness and truth with a cosmopolitan illustration,
liberties with articulated hopes in divine presentation.
The Gallery has many rooms and halls with high ceiling,
making every painting of thought in great light revealing.
Confessions from the intimate act of rhyming inspiration,
sensing the purity of mental virtue by aspiration.
My heart in love by simple words and joyous state ,
sensing at times the texture of many hymns of fate.
Quivering phrases with subtle expressions so bare,
loving touches by sensuous melodic lyrics so fare.
Time solved into distant valleys from where I stand,
spreading on empty scenes turning vacant.
The all embracing mysteries of human love intertwined,
taken the realms of dreams vividly contained.
The poetic soul in celestial consequence,
taken the magic hour of twilight as reference.
The firmament in burning spirit of faith,
giving imagination another world, which cannot wait.
Holding on to that wondering awe of that exhibition,
for other times by picture memories with refined condition.
The spirit through many lives and frames more attuned,
echoes from the multiverse of creative visions bloomed.
Law began by living,
locomotion meeting the rails of electric rainfall,
Consequence coursing through interconnected crossbeams
making all form fruit of the first & final recipe,
one great statute spawned from the storm
billowing from Divinity's genius,
everything in the Universe existing to produce,
get busy, get bounce'n, grow wild & now,
receive with wisdom and take as thieves humbled by offering,
the original impulse from a manic God
pregnant from androgonous purpose,
a trillion movements in a single start, a fanatic for feral smarts,
stagnation anethema to the spectacular suspense of survival,
Natural Rights were for me
the moment my blood became mine, became a wet warlord
exerting presence in the wide open wrestle of Universe,
God the shadow & weight of my spark,
the window & scene of my good gumption, of my dusty dream,
self defense a mandate from the magistrate of my heritage,
freedom of expression an obligation humming from ancestors'
anniverseries applauded along the Appain Way headed
not towards Rome but forward to a higher home of honor,
a Law unto myself I am,
eating from the spines of lions,
sleeping atop pyramids built by a billion bones unbroken by battle,
afternoons auction affection for my amusement with discount
and the nights nudge nightmares asunder
with the release of red lightning
spelling the name of Creation in raw neon, breathtaking breakdown,
a script scribbled by a hand having the blueprint of dirt in it's fingernails,
I appeal to Adam, attest in favor of aggression's willpower,
to Eve I beseech, testify to the severity & sanction of self confidence,
let us smash all false law that stands as a wall to our fulfillment,
smack the eggshell of Man's authoritarian angst,
waking into a world of wakeful worries, confined by Common Law, U.C.C.,
walking through waves ment to wreck the arrogant
with a constitution inked by nerves electrified
by entertaining the urgency of a rampaging God,
thought of the great expanse thumping thoroughly through
the expeditions my expectations encounter,
black static undulating around the blue bulb of my brain,
sparks of ultimate consciousness mothering marks of miracles
in the becoming of birthright,
J.A.B.
I often wonder how death will begin
and will there be a warning sign to heed.
Will I feel something way down deep within
Is it the end, no matter what my creed
Of course, it could be just a sudden blow
No time to think or weigh the consequence
of how I lived my life, my deeds to tow
No time for words to come to my defense
Will there be lights or helping hands to see
the smiles of those we love long gone from earth
Or will light be a silent absentee
with only darkness left to judge my worth
No matter how it ends, the seeds are sown
I’m grateful for this life that I have known
11/9/17
“I’m sorry,” tossed as a stone,
each syllable heavy on my tongue,
as we weave these threads of consequence
into a tapestry faded yet bright,
woven with wisdom whispers,
and the gleam of a gamble gone grim.
And indeed, I am intimidated.
of the perils housed within every breath,
of the silent storms hurrying through cheeks,
as pleasure and peril intertwine with a puzzle
each reminder a blooming flower of regret,
plentiful plans, now plagued with pain
The night navigates, we don our diadems
of heartbreak—vines tightening around hearts,
cradling the lessons learned amid bruises,
as guilts and grievances, as amiss guests,
linger over evening tea, reminding us softly,
not all facets of existence extend an extra time,
no notion that nuances will nurture forgiveness.
as daybreak dispels drowsiness from tired tresses,
as dawn dances and shadows shrink swiftly,
I seize shining options, shroud them in scarlet,
carrying my burdens from yesteryear’s twilight—
a painter’s brush drenched in deep melancholia,
sculpting a heart that learns to care for its frailties
as threads glimmer softly in the vast dark,
weaving the pain, allowing for a graceful glow.
Life and time and lessons learned
In hopes with heed, I don’t get burned
How things do change as I have grown
In contemplating all I’ve known
When memories on jukebox play
I think about a carefree day
Where worries wore a different face
The consequence of youthful grace
A song of love that I once knew
Designer jeans with knees worn through
No thoughts of losing those I love
Just thoughts of what I’m dreaming of
A song to dance the night til dawn
Without the slightest urge to yawn
No thoughts of fear for what’s ahead
Just thoughts of what to wear instead
Why should the music ever end
While someone has an ear to bend
It lives, it streams, it changes form
And yet with feeling, no less warm
Perhaps that is the lesson learned
The one that time has really earned
A life, like music, always plays
It’s just, we hear it different ways
No need to fear, no tears to lose
No worries for a path to chose
What once was me will always be
My spirit lives, it lives age free
One
I could never tell you, in words of mine
The skeletal frame of the body needs ample soulful nourishment.
There is need of freedom of expression, could not even reach there
Little versions of my belief
Knock at my doorstep
And left me as one of the patient and intimidated crowd.
Two
“Perhaps you did not know, Nodee committed suicide,”
I kept on pondering, amid nothingness.
Many rivers are dying , aren’t they?
Our blissful river Korotoa, our beautiful korotoa!
I could not even utter a word!
I kept on looking … as if I knew nothing about it.
Life flows in abundance in these streaks of moments
Persisting...still alive.
“Will you have a cup of tea? Should I make you one?"
“Yes, perhaps,” I answered in a diminished tone.
Nodee committed suicide.
Her fate was destined for that consequence.
And I will think about her.
Within all my lonely moments with a cup of tea,
When I will disengage from the bigger crowd
And in my isolation, I will walk on the thread
leading to the lonely island.
Three
I am waiting.
The waiting time for eternity.
Why is the thirst for a cup of tea so unbearable?
October 5, 2021
We are much alone when old,
after lifetimes of accompaniment,
of tacit support and connection
from our friends and peers.
Must I now label as mental failing
sometime strange behaviors I exhibit?
These are a consequence of long living,
result in my speaking to the air, to myself and
to my beloved pets. No one else is around.
This becomes habitual. I explain that it is
only to retain my sanity, ability to speak,
to think, to hone skills of artful conversation,
of facile verbal composition.
Although silence may be soothing
or oppressive, calming or profoundly
disturbing, pets are a great comfort --
though they sometimes underscore
and magnify lack of human interaction.
Loneliness is a sad consequence
of aging, intensifying losses, magnifying
declining mental agility, dulling consciousness
of changes in behavior. To fill empty hours,
to calm fears, to feel at peace, welcome
the company and affection of pets.
Treat them as deserving beloved ones.
We should protect, support, preserve them.
They are as central to our lives
as we are to theirs.
South West monsoon starts early Our village gets more rainfall Oh , the streets are full of lovely puddles We jump into the puddles joyfully Rain water splash on the ground heavily
Our dresses have wet fully
Even the big school bags are too Our intention is to enjoy the rain
We never think about the consequence Our bodies say enough but not the mind
Our mother sees us playing
Shout for playing in the rain
She has gone into the house instantly Our lovely grandma appears from the house
She calls us to come inside politely.
We accept her call calmly. Step into the house wetly Our mother comes with a large spoon to beat. The grandma stands before us like a wall
She says they are innocent children too.
We realize our mistake
And say pardon us, mother.
What luxury to get mad
about last night's basketball loss
and watch the full moon descending
at the speed the earth turns.
Things could get worse
personally and for the community.
Bombings, killings, anomie
boiling frogs and witches cursing.
The changing climate,
typhoons in the Philippines,
volcanoes and tsunamis, WWII which I missed,
Thanksgiving nor'easter, Easter twister.
What abundance to fast or feast,
your choice, stay inside by the stove
or go outside, climb the mountainside.
Live in a city or small town.
So I raged at the coaches
for their lazy zone defense
like an alien in the bleachers
unable to affect the outcome.
When my sons came home
I yelled at them too. What opulence
to be angry about nothing of consequence
neither stopped by the cops nor slipped on the ice.
(on rhyme, and Its refusal)
Nature does not govern; she proceeds,
a rhythm older than our needs,
sufficient without plan or plea,
exact where we refuse to be.
Conditions hold while balance stays;
disturb the cadence—systems fray.
No warning rises, none is sent;
the cost arrives as consequence.
We learned to count, to name, to prove,
mistook precision for the move.
Laplace reduced the sky to parts
and mistook silence for an art.
Entropy kept faithful time,
charging loss for borrowed form.
Nothing vicious in the rate—
only patience we misnamed as fate.
Gaia tuned the seas and air
by feedback, not by thought or care.
The world endured because it flowed,
not because it could be known.
Then entered us, with finer knives,
dividing rhythm into lives,
cutting measure into rule,
calling interruption “control.”
Here the poem breaks—
not from error,
but excess.
Too much intelligence.
Too much correction.
Too many hands improving what was not broken.
The leaf retains its visible design:
vein, pigment, geometry.
The exchange is gone.
No method restores it.
No theory forgives the cut.
Animals meet limits by resistance alone.
They stop.
They yield.
They remain.
We persist.
Nature does not punish.
She withdraws coherence.
Climate keeps the account.
Chemistry enforces the terms.
Extinction enters without malice—
only completion.
What cannot rejoin
its sustaining rhythm
does not return whole.
The law does not ask
whether the cut was careful.
The law continues.