Long Constrain Poems
Long Constrain Poems. Below are the most popular long Constrain by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Constrain poems by poem length and keyword.
I walked into you with wide-open eyes,
Your softly creeping gloom invaded my dreams,
Lingering and hastening the oblivion;
Hello, Darkness.
Doubts and confusion paved my way
Leaving room only for shadowed rain.
Unexpectedly, a gleam of light shattered my illusion
And broke the darkness.
Now I walk in light and see desperate people,
Thousands, yearning to be heard above the fray;
Silently they scream in panic and pain,
Finding only your darkness.
Foolish men knowingly block their ears,
Confident in your festering evil,
Loathe to hear the cries of the people,
Content to remain in darkness.
I see learned citizens embrace you as a god,
Unwilling to read the writing on the wall,
Bending every lie into a warped version of truth;
They worship your darkness.
I walk into you with eyes wide open,
Appalled at your naked ambition,
Straining to hear a word of denial
From those able to to constrain your darkness.
I hear only the whisper of silence.
July 31, 2019
Imagination leaves the syllabus, far too soon,
eclipsed by networking, killing the daydreams at noon.
The child who saw fanciful kingdoms up in clouds in the air
is taught, by well-meant rulers, not to wander way up there.
Calling one a 'dreamer' is common in speech,
It mocks the inner thoughts, which only dreams can reach.
They drag childishness back to where reality is framed.
where people weigh worth in facts, and fantasy is shamed.
The very young begin by seeing things in cloudy skies,
beyond the cumulus, to the nebulous scenes, in their eyes.
Yet by their middle teens, those realms die, grow dim,
as screens and AI networks rewrite, prune, and trim.
Once, people prized creativity as a valuable worthy end.
now added guardrails constrain how much minds may bend.
For now to imitate or emulate is seen as the only goal,
and free open expression is forever denied its role.
We call this dithering "play", as though it were a toy,
and not the source of insight, of hope, and of joy;
as though the mind at large, unruly and unled,
is a mere idle pastime, inept and silly, when not spoon fed.
Now the nanny-mind state, of patterned code,
cannot dream beyond its borrowed AI road.
It cannot hope, because it cannot feign,
the worlds that a free imagination, can sustain.
Yet I Remain
There are no tethers, yet I remain,
no locked doors or barred windows,
no walls, no chained gates, no guards,
for I am free, of and from, any bondage
to this world - save love.
These bonds do not constrain my love
they light the way that I may see its beauty,
adjust the lighting lest a shadow pass
across my heart. Such bonds are not
a limitation, they are the gleam of sunlight
reflecting on the surface of a waiting moon.
This invisible web, more delicate than the
finest spider spun silk, resonates the hum
of distant breezes, holds to daybreaks
dew drop dreams, enfolds in perfect
symmetry one half of whole.
This power to be unattached yet still
connected, a pebble reaching out
in rippling touch, a thought, its only
true vibration, caressing with its freedom
those still longing to be free.
For PD’s - ‘a poem you have not entered in a past contest #11’
John G. Lawless
Careful—what you hear
is not truly what mind heard;
bias wears a voice
we sort the world by its sound—
kinship hums in tone and tongue.
Talk sounds funny—strange,
not what you're used to hearing
through your native ears
guardrails narrow to constrain
how you render each word's sound.
Hearing listens first
for cadence, tone, inflection—
truth dressed in accents;
one voice rises, one falls through,
judged before the words arrive.
A child chooses friends—
not for faces, but a voice
that feels like their own;
in accents they speak at home
echoing inheritance.
As youths grow older
their speech bends towards the room,
softly converging—
to belonging in the crowd
with a learned change in accent.
Careful—he might hear
you—not as you fully are
mutual bias
is voiced in accented sounds—
kinship strummed in scope and tone.
The Power of One
Slowly shadows devour the day’s light,
The silhouette of fear draws breath
From the soul left gasping,
A firestorm of fury gathering,
Like mists of plagues escaping
From an ancient land of sand and tombs
With locusts warning of hope’s starvation
To escort the darkness rising
Turning pleas into ashes – weeping into stone -
Pounding on the mountainsides where sweetest spice
Withers beneath lullabies
Robbed of serenity’s grace -
Flowing furious on fevered winds
Pushing reveries and faith out on a ledge -
Not knowing right from left
Or up from down -
No words of clarity in
In the whirlwind’s barren chrysalis,
To hem in - to constrain -
With invisible shrilling waves of crisis
Whipped up by anguish
That binds the wildly beating, frantic heart,
Like a captured sparrow;
To scoff, to jeer, to overlook,
The single bloom standing up,
Trembling like new leaves on thinnest branches,
Scanning galaxies of prophetic possibility,
Then lean on visionary stars
That shatter with the speed of light
The hovering shadow of inertia’s darkest enchantment,
Sending out the solitary song of meadowlarks,
Still caroling through deafness, not silenced,
Not bending to the ill winds moaning
And the chaos screaming,
To scatter seeds of spring not born
Like unseen winged flyers;
To see beyond and past descending doom,
Into that far and sheltered arbor
With dreams of wisdom and young visions -
Outside the grasp of calamity,
Beyond the dark horizon -
Enticing with an alluring fragrance gather back
Into the benediction of the ever circling eternal seasons
Promising….
Self-Owned
Remember
the day
you became entitled
to yourself
No debts to pay
no last charade
the circle closed
— indwelt
(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)
Reflection
Do we just recall
a memory
Or its cause
and its effect
Is consciousness
a chain of links
To front load
— or dissect
(Dreamsleep: May, 2025)
Beatitude
The deeper you question
the more you constrain
God’s true existence
to never explain
Loosen your grip
on what holds you back
Surrender to glory
— Divinity’s tack
(1st Book of Prayers: May, 2025)
The Only Thing
Winning is always
undefeated
Score
to tell the tale
The victory plum
is zero sum
With glory
— to regale
(The New Room: May, 2025)
All Is Now
Unplugging tomorrow
recharging today
Conscripting the moment
— inside which we pray
(1st Book of Prayers: May, 2025)
If i could retake my life to bake again,
I’d say exactly where, what and when,
To my family and fundamentalist church,
To those with importance as a crutch.
I’d take that offer of life and health,
By taking that clinic of great wealth;
Carers set out all just for hurt, torn me,
Who could never openly climb the tree.
I would just decide to take that blow,
Which my society could directly throw,
If the police couldn’t constrain my dad,
If the social work couldn’t stop the gad.
If the doctor couldn’t prohibit my parents,
From their motorway journeys and vents,
When they wanted to visit me at Uni,
Every month, which was not of beauty.
To accept that rehab right and fair,
To become functional to toot and blair,
Would’ve been against their beliefs,
‘Cos they wished for me Christian motifs.
But that clinic appointment firmly offered,
As Hereward College would’ve proffered,
The ability to leave my parents straight,
To cold shoulder ‘em with my atheist gait.
So I’d change that, that day at college,
When an honest answer i didn’t manage,
To the question of whether or not i did wish,
To see the doctor, for a needed clinic swish.
My parental guardian would’ve agreed,
To that rehab, possibly, ‘cos she did heed,
That normal script of life and its doors,
Which opened to me any path on my shores.
She told me i could do just as i pleased,
And life any life i wished to, she greased;
She was fighting on my side, in my corner,
For my dignity, happiness and honour.
For All Things There Is A Purpose
Written: by Miracle man
12-16-2019
My morning quiet time, always conduces creativity,
This endeavor precludes, each day’s passivity.
Lingering health issues, continue to constrain,
Being unable to do much, causes me mental strain..
But my life wasn’t spared to just sit and whine,
My days stacked together are a huge ball of twine.
I was left for a purpose that only God is seeing,
And some days I’ve questioned my reason for being.
During a 45 day period of time I had,
Severe Spinal Stenosis surgery November 15, 2016
Open heart surgery on December 27, 2016
Sudden Cardiac Arrest on January 1, 2017
Doctors had “put out the fire and called the dogs,” Yet here I am!
What a testimony to God’s greatness
to those who witnessed this chapter of my life.
Tom
Does strife constrain me from thoughts of your mind?
Does it impede my mind's-eye image of you?
Even with my circumscribed point of view
I know this,—that you're of most gracious kind.
A poet and a mentor, you remind
me of a lost faith in what's pure and true,
ideals once held by me and by the few
that all the innocents have left behind.
So, Anja, I laud you as a brother
with these well-chosen lines from this sonnet;
please esteem them (as you would your mother)
as if your very joy depends on it.
A lodestar and guide, you have earned my love
like the Bard whose muse came down from above.
Written: August 23, 2023
Soup Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
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In the heart of the kitchen's lively domain,
Where pots and pans dance, a culinary chain
A simmering pot of soup takes center stage.
A recipe of flavors—an enticing page
With a flick of a wrist, the chef's hands command,
Creating a masterpiece, a dish that expands,
In the heart of the kitchen's lively domain,
Where creativity and passion—intertwine.
The shrimp is delicately placed in the pot.
As the chef's touch brings out the flavors sought,
A sprinkle of salt—a dash of spice,
Enhancing the soup—making it nice.
The aroma fills the air—a tantalizing scent,
Drawing in diners, their appetites bent.
Strong and briny, the flavors meld.
Creating a symphony, a story to be held.
But in this magic kitchen—a twist is at play.
For vegans and ketos, there's a feast on display.
Carnivores and herbivores unite with delight.
As the chef's expertise creates a dish that's just right.
No longer divided—by dietary choice,
In the heart of the kitchen, all can rejoice.
The vegan soup, a blend of vegetables and spices,
A burst of freshness—a taste that entices.
The keto option is filled with rich fats and protein.
A low-carb delight—a culinary dream
The carnivores indulge in a meaty delight.
Savoring every bite, their taste buds ignite.
In the heart of the kitchen—harmony reigns.
Where dietary boundaries—no longer constrain,
For the magic of flavors, the chef has found
A way to satisfy all, with culinary wonders abound.
So come, gather 'round, and taste the delight.
In the heart of the kitchen, where dreams bear flight
With soup as the centerpiece, a dish so divine,
In this culinary haven, there's something for every kind.