Long Contends Poems
Long Contends Poems. Below are the most popular long Contends by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Contends poems by poem length and keyword.
Blasphemy
"The Truth will out."
- So say the sages.
Yet lies proliferate-
Pages and pages;
Though the nude Emperor parades,
Sans clothes and sense,
His adoring subjects embrace his charades
Trading reality for reassurance;
This is not a new occurrence.
We've been down this road before
And know where it must end.
It will drag us to enslavement, and finally to war.
The devout can never see
While their deceiver seems their friend,
As he with truth contends.
These times are dangerous
For souls like mine,
Who run against the swelling tide
Of those drunk on poisoned wine
Of prejudice and fear.
To call out the tin god
Becomes a blasphemy;
Invites a settling beneath the sod
For those who speak, like me.
Yet blaspheme I will,
Blaspheme I must -
Still a servant to public trust.
I will consume the bitter pill
Balancing the common lust
For simple answers, simple truths
Satisfying neo-Hitler youths.
So I must express truth to power
Though it fall upon truth-deafened ears,
Though my words drop down in this eleventh hour;
Staunch not true patriots' tears -
I must speak the truth, and damn the lies
That perfidy with sedition buys,
To subjugate a worthy, noble nation;
To keep us in a servile station.
New York City is like a cobblestone symphony,
where jackhammers and footsteps form the rhythmic timpani,
sirens and honking taxis, are the cymbals, that provide sudden bursts of energy,
traffic’s hum could be the violins and pigeon squawk a chorus of industry.
The sounds of life never seem to stop because they echo around continually.
Fifth Ave is fashions seat and in every store we saw teenagers tweeting,
perfecting that perfect, offhanded pout to pair with their newest, elite treats.
Envisage a High-(snob)-society playground, a cathedral of style in concrete,
where high fashion brands compete, with glittering displays meant to tease and entreat.
Bergdorf's windows are a whimsical winter wonderland, without a single touch of green,
and Tiffany's underwater dreamscape, contends with Cartier’s minimalist sheen.
At night, the buzzy bars ignite, and laughter spills like sparkling champagne,
flanged martini glasses clink in chorus, to silly school year stories, and tipsy holiday refrains.
We all know that times like a ballet dancer, who pirouettes in increasing haste,
holidays don’t last forever, Yale’s not known for leisure and new terms must be faced.
But for now, we’ll steal kisses in Bryant Park, because we don’t have a second to waste.
Under the vault of shadow of unfulfilled love,
The sweet poison becomes the purpose of bitter days,
When the heart, caught in the tender dance of beginnings,
Gradually sinks into the labyrinth of forced intimacy.
A flight that seemed to reach for the heavens, in fact descends into the abyss,
Turning passion into a lost mechanical rhythm,
A dream turned into dark pleasure, insatiable fantasy,
A monster that has torn apart and consumed the fruit of love.
Searching for the primordial state at each crossroads of the soul,
Yet the thrill of the search breaks against the wall of acute compulsion.
With each dose of sweet loss, a new trap is woven,
And the soul, like a vagabond, desperately stretches out for relief.
In the whirlpool of desire, you feel like a fisher of illusions on a tumultuous ocean,
Hoping to catch solace but only grasping waves of fear,
You, slave to the flesh, find yourself chained by your own thirsty flame,
And once more you beseech, for a breath of air, as you sink into it.
You are like a leaf in the wind, the bars weigh heavy, and still the tumultuous passion is your cell,
"Have I become refuse?" you ask, but the longing is in the words, crying out your lost innocence.
The mirror lies to you every day, telling you there are no more stairs to forgiveness,
But inside you know you are more, you are the dream, the hope, not the shadow of your weary past.
Once more, a soul lost in its fractured loves,
On the path to find itself, it prays, it struggles; it contends mightily.
The addiction you carry is heavy, the hours whip with impatience,
And you cry to the world, "Help!" fighting against the inscrutable dusk.
In this labyrinth, you will find at one end, someday, the gate to your true self,
A path towards the inner light where your mind’s youth never ceased to beat,
Do not resign to be the prisoner of an endless maze,
For self-reconciliation, rise and shout, and beseech the heavens to hear you and to give you solace.
ALMS AND TITHES
Alms, spontaneous like a gentle breeze,
Tithes, a steady stream, a spiritual ease.
Both hold real value and kindle light,
In the acts of giving, souls take flight.
In worlds where compassion transcends,
These two acts of kindness often contends:
Giving alms and tithing, both profound,
Yet different paths to spread hope around.
Alms, humble donations from one's heart
To those in need, a supportive art.
With open hands, a gesture pure,
Lifting burdens, helping hearts endure.
In silent alleys, where destitution dwells,
Alms ignite a flame where hope compels.
From helping hands, blessings overflow,
Enriching lives and touching a soul.
Yet tithing seeks commitment and devotion,
A promise made with unwavering emotion.
Reverence for faith, an exchange divine,
Giving back to the source, we all must align.
From churches and temples, the tithes flow,
Serving as our saving grace on the go.
Strengthening lives and building anew,
This is purely a purpose we pursue.
As you observe, ponder and deeply reflect,
Embrace both alms and tithes in respect.
For in the heart's generosity we find,
A world of compassion that's intertwined.
In giving alms and tithing is biblical,
None of those two make you weaker.
Do you want to give hope or nurture faith?
I say, weave kindness, touch lives as the bible saith.³²
VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©? December
Gathered among lovely nymphs, whose grace shines brightly like eternal stars
Their vibrant essence lingers, embracing radiantly,
In the dream-laden air, does my love pursue only a fleeting vision?
My uncertainty, an ancient veil of darkness, now reaches its peak.
In the quiet branches that linger faithfully, in enduring woods,
Alas, I too have presented myself as a false and grand ideal.
Should we then speak of these maidens whom you hold in sight,
Do they mirror the deep desires that haunt your senses' flight?
One, a deceptive illusion of purity, cold and chaste like tears,
Yet the other, full of sighs and warmth, a stark contrast to the world?
No! Through lazy reveries, stifling the gentle rise of morning,
No waters flow, except those that my flute's soft murmur conjures.
To the grove, with melodies sprinkled like a gentle rain,
Where my twin pipes play swiftly, untouched by the limits of the horizon.
Oh shores of Sicily, in tranquil marshes I am lost,
Vanity contends with the brilliance of the sun, at such a cost.
Silent beneath shimmering blooms, let me thus narrate,
Of reeds I cut and tamed, when behold! From a distant vineyard's gate,
A creature as pure as snow descends upon the verdant glow,
A prelude soft as pipes, like swans in flight bestow.
All inert things burn in this warm, languid hour,
Unaware of how they fled the captivating power of desire.
Now awake, primal urge, beneath the ancient flood's embrace,
Lily! Your innocence in your gaze, true amidst the grand pace.
But beyond this sweet nothingness, beneath their brief kiss,
My heart, untouched by proof, reveals a profound mystery.
Let it be! For in the reeds we play, under the azure sky,
Turning cheeks to tremble, dreams take flight.
To amuse the beauty around, with notes that weave and sway,
Between the dream and song, love's whispers softly play.
Since remarks from the T.V, and a stocking of my soul to breathe...
I relax eagerly when I await the heat and see that nothing come's out of me unless I can be free-
now they said in many many books that this is how we plead,
the defiance of a boarder stronger and foreigner as the hoarder from outer space descends,
but like my mentor contends with me as I ease into the heavenly shrine above mine,
I allow for only a sanctimony of time,
like I would wonder if my gun no longer shined-
and my face only ate pine,
and my body enveloped love of binds rather than the free floating chime...
I was a walker and yet no more than the other stalker a boat bought in a saunter.
Takes a gallon of coffee to wake him,
But it’s sweet when his axe hits the spot,
While the mist slips away from the mountain,
And the day hardens dusty and hot.
He contends with the bothersome thicket,
Stays alert for the growl of the bear,
And considers the question of silence
Should he fall when there’s nobody there.
He’s no steam donkey spool tender,
Nor bolt punching river pig.
He can chow down the gut robber’s grub.
He’s no short-stake bark peeler.
He’s a tin pants timber beast,
A high balling bull of the woods.
Shoulders burn as he carves his obsession,
Dark and moist, till his brow’s dripping wet,
Like the day when she danced for him naked
And the night when they mingled their sweat
In that boarding house in Seattle
Just across from the Skid Road Saloon,
In the heat of a lumber town payday,
By the light of a Puget Sound moon.
He’s no steam donkey spool tender,
Nor bolt punching river pig.
He can chow down the gut robber’s grub.
He’s no short-stake bark peeler.
He’s a tin pants timber beast,
A high balling bull of the woods.
There’s a kerosene lamp in the bunkhouse,
Lends a halo of warmth to the room
Where the dreamers see visions of back cuts
And their snores sound like logs in a flume.
As he ponders the hand that’s been dealt him,
Can’t distinguish a heart from a spade
On the deacon seat drinking whisky.
Getting drunk when he’d rather get laid.
A woodsman works from dark to dark.
He labors from tree to tree.
Yet light of heart he leaves his mark
For none but his Maker to see.
ALONE
put forth
with tenacity
sustain
then set free
into
a valley so divine
where truth
still reigns
a destiny
stands ready
& resonates within
this cornerstone
of merciful accord
shall begin
to mend & contends
to sow a seed
of unity once more
in pursuit
of a resurrected life
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
Breathe is a gift per luck
To every man and to all
Some dine and wine in havoc
And pray grace don't let fall
Ever young is time, a darling gift
Among foes, there are some friends
In between trouble, drilling may fumble
Hastening may be tiresome, need contends
But chance will bail faith's stumble
Stretching out its invisible divine lift
Across the road, gentle Lion lay ambush
Much harder is being conscious
Of ethics so classy in deadly bush
Nevermind to jilt being ambitious
The lives of civilians you made your concern
Behind the scenes, craziness dine fine
With fairness fighting fitness to fire fear
In your chosen career's bloodline
Today is a time out of few to cheer among peer
The day happiness happily sojourn its pattern
For love, principle loses its rigid form
Thanks to the considerable heart you got
Thy attitude gets pretty positive and reform
The expected date norm known, rot
That always have you around thy spouse
Frustration is the key to make cruelty live within
Renting reciprocation to a potent rage
But you denied that with your sweet grin
Making you so young below your age
Beauty of you looks cool even in a blouse
Holidays during service is not enjoyable
The time, memory and loyalty's worth
I say well-done, give praises; be deployable
A day shall come when the undone shall birth mirth
Accompany you with time precious than gold
Live joyfully dear in-law with soul well uphold
The wind swept wandering through the dale,
With dusty thrashing force, from a fuming gale.
The herder stooped, his club held firm in hand,
And saw the eagle clasping its prey lowering to land.
Then two crows circled overhead, hungry and sly,
Their eyes fixated on the eagle’s feast nearby.
They grappled fiercely until the eagle lost its right, -
Ultimately turning its triumph into a spite.
With a thin, piercing cry, it soared from sight;
The herder stunned, spoke softly at the sight:
“Behold how life contends within the wild -
What once was yours may vanish, swift and wild.”
Not strength alone sustains life’s endless claim,
But how you move and guard yourself in game.
For there is beauty in rise, and pain in fall;
Through trials and perils, let truth guide us all.
While we watch in wonder, taking brief delight,
Be mindful of the battles day and night.
Life’s struggles linger, seeking to subdue -
A ceaseless fight, as in the wild, runs through.
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