Long Consist Poems
Long Consist Poems. Below are the most popular long Consist by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Consist poems by poem length and keyword.
My
Hair
Brushes
Across
My naked
Skin
In
This
Secret
Haven
Under
Cotton sheets
Safetly
Tucked
From harm
I am sheltered
You
Have
Been
Out
Of my life
For 3 months
Now
And
Still
My memories of you linger
Phone conversations
Consist
Of our empty chatter
My head buzzes
As
I get over the fact, that I can never tell you
That
I will love you
Forever.
You silly man.
You
Never
Realized
The beauty
Of
My simple sigh
Miss
Your life
I used to cry
Seperated
By my own stubbornness
And
3000 miles
I wrap
A blanket
Securely
Around
My naked
Buddy
Hugging myself
I say Good bye
Form:
Freedom
Let there be freedom for all of us who care for the just and righteous ways of our living.
As the sun rises and sets with days upon us that may consist of chaos around us in the world.
Stand strong in your beliefs. Have faith in your purpose. Reach out to everyone you can.
For it is only when we give to others and ourselves that we can live at our full potential.
Goodness can grow stronger in a society that has so much going wrong into darkness.
We can be a light, as there is on the horizon each and every day, with positive actions.
We are free when we live true to ourselves and trust that things can be better in time.
We are free when we treat ourselves like a precious gem and those around us as well.
Freedom is what life is all about with what we can choose to make of it, let it be today!
If ever I should
Race for Hell
Swear on my grave with palms begging to be nailed
If ever I should
Hope for the best, enter my home as a guest
Mention I love you, and simply forget to think of you
If ever I should
Now why should I pray when I got arms to bare
Alarms to scare, violence to share
Live this life by a strict sense of principles
Wash the sins from my flesh and hope my past is rinseable
Why am I so eager to constantly please
Help those that lost their feet, back to their knees
Give others both my hands, help them stand
When selfishness is my main feature as a man
And the truth is, I can't help but think of you
Grip your hands and whisper I love you
Must we discuss how I lost your trust
Look into a crystal ball
And vision a future that doesn't consist of the two of us
Gun in palms, rehearsing a common verse from Psalms
No father figure, holding his daughter in arms
Place her on satin pillows, given a good night charm
In all hopes loves relaxes on her covers and keeps her warm
I surrender take me to his cross and nail me
Scream in blasphemy as these demons trail me
Mistakes keep calling me back
Heartaches keep me falling on tracks
And I know my soul is shallow
Forgive it being constantly in battle
This beautiful Sunday afternoon has me pondering my life.
I lost my beautiful son in his twenties to mental illness,
just months ago. So now adjusting to being a mother to one
adult son is a very different situation, and I have not developed my sea
legs for my new life situation yet. I also decided to take on a new
life project to have something positive to focus on, but that isn't
official yet. Most of all, I am grateful for a loving husband and a loving
God who have both supported me during this time of upheaval.
Grief is very hard, but it is an extension of the generous love that
we had for our son and how grateful we are for having him in our
lives for the time he was here. There is also relief that he is at peace.
My days consist of swirling emotions with sometimes intense responses,
and lots of leaning on the love of God and my family and friends.
I am very grateful for my tribe!
Big Crit authorizes any person who has been called a poet in print to
wear an arm-band bearing the Happy Face.
Big Crit decrees that anyone who wins a poetry prize shall in respect of
that honor give all subsequent public readings of his or her poetry
while wearing Groucho glasses.
Big Crit hereby commissions the production of an anthology to contain
every poem ever published in which the internet is referred to, all
copies of which are immediately to be burnt.
Big Crit ordains that henceforth all love poems shall be printed in
mauve ink on lavender paper and all war poems shall be printed in
Gothic type and all poems about poetry shall be printed upside-down
and backwards and all poems about one’s grandmother shall be printed
in black ink on black paper.
Big Crit enacts that from now on the verbal content of all paid
political advertisements shall consist solely of excerpts from the
plays of Aristophanes.
Big Crit orders all those possessing a budgerigar to teach said avian
to recite one line from the verse of William Carlos Williams;
and Big Crit further declares April 25th of each year to be Annual
Bird Bard day, on which the recitation of poetry shall be forbidden
to all but parakeets, so that there may be no ideas but in budgies.
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Don’t do often, But I want you to think of me smiling
Who but Hells cast wants to see me frowning
It may never come to be, but think of me smiling
I’m drowning and don’t I know how it’s sounding
Timely lifestyles consist of brutality and poverty
Closed caskets and heavenly sponsored robbery’s
Such a close call, how we escaped this insanity
All earthly things are but vanity
Everyday vision murky as hell
Sinners is prisoners in Gods cell, chirping for bail
Yet we fend for beauty, strength, and discretion
Bet this is only a partial confession
Take it as a hard lesson
It’s raining these precious earthly treasures
But we keep a pressing our loyalty in these textures
The weakest being the most wanting in wisdom
My every organ
Constantly pumping to keep life in this system
Given the game, Everyman should be quit
Severely stand and demand hypocrites
Speak so fiercely
Yet these angels could so easily pierce me
If we are made in his magnificence
Then how can we be of such little significance
When at last you have become aware deep down yourself
and of the people whom require at last some mental health
be serviced, come to services
and you have at least one personality disorder
characterized by abnormal
and maladaptive inner experience, usually, from some past
and other ones behavior.
Personality disorders, also known as Axis II disorders, include obsessive-compulsive, avoidant, paranoid
and borderline.
Axis I disorders, on the other hand, include depression
and schizophrenia mental illnesses
thought to be less pervasive but more acute.
When Jane and Jonny you have lately come,
and all now know you both may have it, is P.D.
And you posses a very different personality,
and have at least one thing, in trust, all commons have.
Your mental illness will not for you for me remit.
Without professional intervention or medication,
behavior modification, death can likely end interdiction.
And exactly what that intervention should consist of
has there remained a subject for her/his long night debates
and his grows even shorter still.
This, along with the disorders' notoriety for being hosted,
problematic when at best it is to treat,
has posed challenges to their successful heartfelt resolution,
or at least known, knew to differant property lays in management.
When your personality disorder exhibits chronic,
pervasive problems
and getting along with other needful people.
View each book as a history book
and show the Nile,
but never hide the flower from the source,
nor the tree the burning bush.
James McLain Wednesday, September 29, 2010
One moment to be
This moment I breathe
Put on glasses & glance to see
As I say I'm sweating success &
decree
Woahw,they be looking for
faults
I'm choking over their words
Charge me with herts not volts
This mind is for goodness God
molds
Now Of late I barely see my
path
I was on a quest to finding
Thabo
But he was locked in a cage of
wrath
Living dark-light from sorrow
I feed this seed within my soul
I circulate this hallow doubtful
hole
I consist of fire from life's hard
coal
This heart is iced up as south
pole
Criticized like some public
opinion poll
Success is my only option
Failure's not
Not "gentleman"-he went for
adoption-I now take the big
shot.
prosperity & I are tying the knot
No love in my life's court
As long as there's breathe
within this simple body
I shall lose myself through lights
with Phalodi
I'll find myself in aftermath's
recovery
Then Testify of this path as a
new discovery
I lost fate
But still I remain great
So I seek no mate
losing me Is a gate
Leading me to escalate
..To a new golden state
An old Norwegian folktale called Per Gynt was written into a five act play by another Norwegian, Henrik Ibsen, which he called Peer Gynt, to which composer Edvard Grieg wrote his Suites to accompany the play (some of my favorite classical music). This suite of poems is an interpretation of what three of these compositions accompanied in the play itself. From Grieg's Suite #1 op. 46, though the order was switched in the play and reflected here. Further explanation is exhaustive, I doubt a Crown of Sonnets could do it justice. The suite will consist of a Couplet, a Quatrain, and a Haiku.
In the Hall of the Mountain King (Couplets)
What is this nightmare - this cursed place
where evil troll has evil face
and shouts and yells louder and louder
to slice me up, then boiled in chowder!
This place of goblins, gnomes and trolls
is made of me ... the King's my soul!
The Death of Ase's - Quatrain (his mother)
Dear Mother, we are not of the same brand,
on the one hand a lullaby, on the other a beating?
What wasted time on the cusp of love,
when instead, from that love retreating.
But now, I look upon and kiss your cold brow
and find peace in that always troubled face;
I see hope there, to someday find the same -
for this mortal life I gladly will replace.
Morning Mood - Haiku
on this desert morn
robbed by friends and sought by beasts ~
a peaceful sunrise
As far as I can see
Reality pushed by fiction
Miss it
And it becomes an addiction
Consequently
I was cast to a region of softer absence
Following my trials, conquering my needs
Living life in high speed with no seat belt to fasten
Out here in the cold
Even my enemies wonder how I’m lasting
Picture a softer voice asking
No more as far as I can see
Survival in this area code
Consist of suffering to behold
A day I might look to grow old
At times I can see myself nearly explode
But I just couldn’t see myself
Fallen victim in this poorly lit corridor
And other than my viewers,
Who else would I put an end to this story for?
And in the end
Perhaps I can look for smiles to send
Who am I kidding?
I’m a child of pitiable grown men
This is as far as I can see
Forgive me for the harlots I lay within
I guess it was mother missed in friend
The flesh I kiss to mend
Lusting away the pain within
Intently I gaze upon soothing thoughts
Whispers, a fluent scent, assuming it was my fault
An outcast, not even orphans looked to see
Even as we were two of the same
Only as phantoms we looked to be
Nothing more as far as I can see