Long Contracting Poems
Long Contracting Poems. Below are the most popular long Contracting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Contracting poems by poem length and keyword.
I revised a poem written
January twenty second
last year – two thousand twenty one
regarding gratitude for Medicare
Insurance to foot the bill
concerning ability to heal
courtesy immune system
undergoing toe till agency
or closest approximation thereof
impossible mission to undergo
one hundred percent protection
against contracting deadly illness,
viz latest epidemic impacting civilization.
Here at Highland Manor Apartments
Saturday January twenty third,
two thousand and twenty one,
I attest yours truly
received the first (of four)
inoculations to stave off
getting COVID-19,
thus mine poetic title
might not seem absurd.
Wednesday February third
and Friday October twenty second
same year as above
witnessed himself receiving
second and third injections respectively
to diminish vulnerability
contracting transmissible pathogen.
Today Wednesday April sixth
two thousand twenty two
poet of Perkiomen Valley
received the fourth
bringing him up to date
(or speed if you prefer druggist's lingo)
with Center for disease
control recommendations.
Aforementioned stance toward death
(meaning taking preventative measures
to live healthy existence)
obviously avoid Saturday night fever
regarding desire Stayin' Alive
and most oppressive
when mine mental, physical
and/or spiritual yours truly
takes a (swan) dive
analogous where bajillion bees
swarm from their hive.
Linkedin with well known poem by and by
penned by Emily Dickinson, I didst decry
expressed her relief
to surender release
and amazingly gracefully die
"Because I could not stop for Death,"
she aptly crafted verses to comply
reverently, merrily, and gloriously accepting
cessation of existence well nigh
as does one garden variety generic goofy guy.
All natural catastrophes aside,
plus excluding thermonuclear war,
where civilization would get fried
nullifying idea viz,
let conscience be your guide,
nor no place to run and hide
left to grapple with dystopian quandary
SEVERE STALKING FROM HITMAN IN HIDING FROM FORT.MYERS FLORIDA FLESH PEDDLERS STALKING THREATS ATTEMPTING TO EXTORT MY TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY CLAIM DONALD HIRED BY PETER GARGANO TO STRANGLE ME IN COLD BLOOD GOD ONLY KNEW THE MANY DEAD BODIES IN HIS PATH REALIZING HE COULD NOT PERPUTRATE FRAUD UPON MY DECEASED FATHER BORN 1942 DONALD GREW BITTER ANGRY AFTER CONTRACTING A VENERAL DISEASE FROM AN FBI AGENT SUN BATHING WITH MY ABUSIVE EX HUSBAND ACCOMPLICE IN CIRO GARGANO ARSON MURDER OF 9 THE NINTH VICTIM DONALD WAS HIRED TO SILENCE ME OVER THOSE ARSON MURDERS OVER THE TAILOR SHOP HE CONTROLLED THE GARMENT DISTRICT IN DETROIT HE SIGNED ON TO TAKE OVER THE GARMENT INDUSTRY IN ILLINOIS THAT RESULTED IN THE ARSON IN THE TAILOR SHOP KILLING 8 ELDERLY PERSONS GARGANO WAS FILLED WITH FURY PELLEGREN CONTINUED TO STALK ME TODAY I RECIEVE THREATS HE'S ALIVE AND WELL HIDING OUT SENDING TERRORIST THREATS UNAFRAID OF GAMBINO HITMEN HIRED BY PETER GARGANO THREATS FROM WISCONSIN WOMENS PRISON EARLY RELEASE FOR THE FLESH PEDDLERS SCORE JUST 4 YEARS FOR STABBING FIVE PEOPLE STALKING HOME INVASIONS IN MY HOME GARGANO HITMAN SHOPPING AT THE WISCONSIN WOMANS PRISON FOR VIOLENT OFFENDERS NO FEAR OF MAN DIE SEVERE REPEAT VIOLENT OFFENDER HARD DRUG MANUFACTUER IDENTITY THIEF HOME INVADER NO FEAR OF THREATS FROM WISCONSIN SEVERE REPEAT VIOLENT OFFENDER BRUTALLY TORTURED HER CRIPPLED MOM FOR YEARS RESULTING IN HER DEATH FROM YEARS OF DOMESTIC ABUSE FROM HER OWN MEXICAN DAUGHTER SADLY PELLEGREN DECIDED TO SELECT VIOLENT OFFENDERS FOR HIS FLESH PEDDLINGS SCORES INDER GARGANO CRIME FAMILIY I SURVIVED THESE VIOLENT OFFENDERS ATTACKS ON MY FAMILY BACK OFF FOUR YEARS WAS A SLAP ON THE WRIST FOR STABBING FIVE PERSONS AND BRUTALLY TORTURED HER MOTHER TO DEATH GOD BLESS THE DECEASED PETERS HITMAN DONALD MASSIMO PELLEGREN
BEYOND ME
The latter part of twenty twenty was promising
with the Corona vaccine, that I was looking
forward with twenty twenty one, anticipating
slowing down of the pandemic will be happening.
Can I ever imagine that fifteen members
of my family in the last two weeks of December
became positive with the Corona virus?
Can I ever think that Christmas Eve
would be spent worrying what would happen
to my brother, who was taken to the hospital?
Can I ever conceive that five more members
of my family in the first eleven days of January
became positive with this virus also?
Can I visualize three out of the five would be
in the hospital and one, my niece would not
make it and we could never see her again alive?
Can I ever envisage my niece passing away
on the sixteenth of January and my brother,
who was in the hospital for twenty five days,
dying the next day, seventeenth of January,
never to talk to him again nor see him again?
Can I ever imagine, think, conceive, visualize,
envisage these circumstances happening within
a month, from eighteenth of December through
seventeenth of January, no, no, no, never!
I never imagined, thought, conceived, visualized,
nor envisaged my mother, my four brothers,
two sisters, three sisters-in-law, four nieces,
two nephews, a grandniece and three others
in the family in six different households
contracting the virus in twenty five days.
Never did I imagine, losing my brother
and my niece and not having a chance
to see, touch, hug them and say goodbye.
I cannot understand, I cannot comprehend
everything that happened. I am numbed.
Everything was beyond by understanding.
Everything was beyond my comprehension.
I’m still in a dazed, everything beyond me.
1/23/21 Can You Imagine - Any Form Poetry
Constance La France
Grammar Checked (PS - Grammar Checker)
(In December 1936, English poet John Cornford
was killed in combat near Lopera, during the
Spanish Civil War. It was the day after his
twenty-first birthday. Could this be the poem
he was formulating in his last hours?)
They switched from cubes to cylinders,
those knights of Calatrava,
when cannon chipped the corners off.
We’re still playing at that palaver.
I’m lying in a scratch-mark
(saying “trench” insults true trenches),
about to take Lopera,
mired in medieval stenches.
Sunlight’s livening turrets
on the ochre-amber castle,
and we’re about to murder
its “Fascist-lackey vassals”.
We glided through the olives
like viruses, infesting:
since no-one gave us shovels, we
scraped fox-holes with our mess tins.
Amusing, isn’t it, pondering
exactly what a fight is?
Do I help humanity by
contracting enteritis?
The whole thing seems to hover
between contrary poles:
by killing (or by dying)
do we achieve our goals?
I’d hoped to fire some shots, then go,
but war’s prolonged, extensive.
I can’t defend aggression, though
passivity’s offensive.
Lopera – is it Cordoba,
or is it part of Jaen?
We’re lads with rusty rifles,
but do we count as men?
And am I now a soldier,
or a Marxist doctrinaire?
Five turrets glow down on me,
three round, while two are square.
“We are not this limited mind body
We are not instinct driven, thoughts shoddy”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Attachment the glue which binds and confines
Debilitating and contracting consciousness
Throwing us off course, as we misalign
Shrouding presence in darkness
We easily discern ego as cause
Seeking body pleasures ephemeral
Upon spiralling thoughts put on pause
Addictions vaporise on choosing life internal
The cravings which arise, mental or physical
Powerless once we become a bliss mist
Relinquishing doership, life simple
Surrendering, ceasing to resist
There are short term measures
Help lines, therapists and doctors
Yet in the end if Gods love we treasure
Vibrant bliss vivifies all our in-form vectors
All addiction essentially yearning to grow
Deludedly choosing domain transient
Shifting in silence and stillness slow
We regain joy, our native element
24-December-2020
Addiction poetry contest
Sponsor: Rob Levasseur
God moves a universe
like a child playing marbles...
Holds the shooter
between the thumb and index finger.
At the speed of light, planets collide
; galaxies whirl in a sea of miracles.
Shattering the taw called impossible.
Colored explosions- space and time.
Expanding contracting breathing existing.
A billion years dancing without witness...
Planets blue
planets green-
planets in the beginning
planets at the end
planets full of living-
Our planet is filled with death.
The great contraction soon comes.
Everything that ever will be
and that ever was...will be crushed.
The voices and footsteps.
The wars and the loves.
Everything played out before.
(on the rosary of God).
Hail Mary, full of grace
Take us to infinity's pristine grave.
Writing a poem is like giving birth to a baby.
With the copulation of fancy and thought,
Comes the moment of conception!
It swims into you as a seed, so tiny, so inconspicuous
Once pregnancy is confirmed, comes irritation, nausea
Lethargy and loss of appetite
All the while you begin to realize
That a new life, independent of you
Has begun growing inside you
Then all the care taken to foster the young life
You withdraw, take rest and relax in solitude
Slowly the fetus moves, the first stirring of life!
With fond fingers, as you pat your belly,
Your pen pats the paper.
The first line comes like the first beating of the heart!
Then words….like little harness bells tingling
Fall in line, line after line!
Drawing nourishment, the embryo grows limb by limb
The miniscule of insight, grown after months of waiting,
Into a mature body of illumination!
A stretch of your dreams! A suffusion of light!
After the labor pains of scribbling and scrawling,
Writing and rewriting, deleting, adding and editing,
With time stretching and contracting,
A baby, nay, a poem is born……
August.4.2022
~Placed Seventh~
Simile Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Hilo Poet
The Universe is the only self-referential reality
in the phenomenal world.
It is the only text
without context.
Thomas Berry
And yet
could no the same
be said of time
as text
without spatial context?
And could this universality of time as text
also become our co-gravitating unity
through co-arising diversity
of spaciating polypathic context?
Octavia Butler
defined God
as Change.
Time changes
or is eternally timeless;
a dead vacuous universal text
swelling and contracting
changes within timeless time
through eternally imaginable context.
If this Universe is God's text
without further context,
then this co-emerging race through time's distinctions
prefacing Earth's voiceless extinctions
proves time's full infinite eternity
contextualizes nothing more or less complete
than timeless here
as now,
Remembering time's near completion
without date
or finite ego-measurement;
lacking too-reductive calculations,
deductive text within-
without inductive sacred context
for God's Left and Right
YangForm through YinFunction
Universe as Sacred Change
Way
Truth
Trust
Life
Love
Grace
EcoPolitical NonDual DiPolar Karma
Restorative Yang EcoJustice with YinYin-WinWin Peace.
Get out of my head mister chatterbox!
Ransacking treasure trove
of maximum headroom.
To remedy a fate worse than death
or orange hair oaf becoming
forty seventh president
or contracting one
of several viral diseases named pox
permeate heavy shut tight door
with numerous deadbolts
and sophisticated locks
and impossible mission to out fox
analogous to roach infestation,
who favor nesting within custom made
Roper men's shoes brand name Docks.
Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" sexual exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,
boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Das scribe's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia
finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned
in fight of ma life
cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,
lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,
gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter
to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better
than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
gook suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,
her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter
ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!
From onset of puberty
on through my early twenties
I had frequent flyer dreams.
Like learning to ride a bike,
I was nocturnally certain
just the right balance of body focus and mind flexibility
would lead to inevitable lift-off.
Perhaps it was not a coincidence
that the more daylight time riding my first and last red three-speed bike,
the more likely I was to invest my nightflights
in flying forward and yet flexibly floating free
to soar with stars
float and spin with the moon
looking down and back and out at EarthTribe's AquaMarine Home,
laced with also flying cumulus fluffs of vaporous white,
as ephemeral as identity myself.
Adolescent hubris,
I know,
to imagine floating flexibly
with just sufficient internal focus, balance, centering
as if a Bodhisattva Flyer
of space as time traveling
forward future
and backward pasts,
outer becomings swelling
with inner flying beings co-gravitating
contracting concentric balance,
dreams of humane-growing flight as inhalation,
internal as external exhalation
mindbody co-operation,
co-optation,
co-present floating flights
of dreamscaped transparent night.
In my dream
we remain free to fly,
free from mind v body polarities,
spirit-nature remains inspiring bodies,
spiral flying full-flight dreams
of economic
and political
and psychological
EarthTribe Revolutions.