Long Controlled Poems
Long Controlled Poems. Below are the most popular long Controlled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Controlled poems by poem length and keyword.
Scratching at reality
as it bites
the head from time
Struggling yawns at insipid dawns
relevance bends and breaks
Front to ???q
uck says the f
defend the loose errs
Keep has been kept
Defy imagine nations
Diction orders the nary
Words twist into swords
lest we test the letters or just be settlers
Take my open hand
no hope and nowhere to land
control and condone the remotest controlled
Rolled and rocked
To a beat that doesn't follow
too morrow worms and tow two moor
Thin king or is it just an ink thing
any one an inkling
Can't follow then don't
Pb is led
All that glitters is not Au
Looking for Ag in the lining
Dread dead add ad a
Live lived veiled deviled and reviled
Knew knew new
Sympathy grows closer with an e
all of us junkies
made from drugs
electron bursts
in dreams of unknown hues
as i walk in deaths corroding shoes
I wasn't there again today
wonder what the man on the stair had to say
NOT WRITTEN FOR A CONTEST
I often write about the ocean's secrets,
of its crashing waves that roar in apogee
and the treasures it washes upon the shore.
I've verses founded on tales of sailor's lore.
Stanzas about fragile seashells and abalone
and of gulls noisily squawking in cacophony.
I've penned Sonnet filled with romantic notions
in which mermaids live in depths of oceans.
I wrote I'd found Atlantis beneath the waves,
and chests of gold and silver in a maze of caves.
I am always watching out for predatory sharks,
for in ocean waters, they are considered hierarchs.
I've claimed the sun cries when twilight is nigh.
When his day his done, he yawns his 'goodbye.'
I narrated epics of its tide, controlled by the moon,
and of sirens who lure men with a beguiling tune.
Poems tell of typhoons, caused by Neptune's hand,
and of shipwrecks, men and cargo strewn on sand.
The ocean beckons to me as I stand on the cliffs.
It speaks in the breakers. My thought often drifts
to how beautiful are the waters that God has made.
It covers most of Earth's surface with salty brine.
The magnitude of its power, I would dare not define.
Much is unknown about what lies beneath the deep
but all its secrets, it seems, the ocean intends to keep.
Invite someone to join you
As you formalize your plans.
Expect to get an answer –
Gee, I wonder how that pans!
“I’ll let you know,” he tells you,
But that doesn’t help at all,
Negating what you’d hoped to be
The purpose of your call.
What does that mean? Or better yet,
Explain exactly - when?
I’m sitting here and waiting
But don’t want to call again.
It’s really so annoying
When your plans are put on hold
‘Cause someone else has grabbed the reins
You thought that you controlled.
“I’ll let you know” is one response
I never should allow.
The next time someone says it,
I’ll say – “Let me know right now!”
With these eyes I thought I had seen
All the wonders I could glean
From such a world of hypocrites
Who fuel the great machine
Of wide dissent and ill intent;
These bureaucrats so hell bent,
Driving forth their own agendas
With tales that they invent.
With these eyes I thought I had known
Where the winds of change had blown
In such a world of failing men
Who simply can’t atone
For all the wicked lies they told
To maintain a wrongful hold
On the minds of complacent youths
So easily controlled.
But I, in wake of this new day
Felt my world begin to sway
When in an instant I did see
A whole new shade of gray
That shattered everything I knew
About life and people too,
Leaving me to wonder now what
Is false and what is true.
A wandering spirit glides upon the glistening sea
As the cool air crashes against you and me
The sun is hidden from view by the clouds
The seagulls crying and flying around
A pleasant sadness filters my soul
It is calm and serene, gloomy...controlled
I lay on the sand, thinking of you
If I was a color, then I'd surely be blue
Blue
The hue of sorrow, calm, and love
I see it everywhere, below and above
I see no darkness—I see no hate
In this dreary and dreamy state
And your eyes...they are me
Shining and staring vacantly
I live in your vision, this mystical shade
And still—against the ocean spray
You fade.
Your blue eyes close
Motionless...emotionless—I turn black
It is now Me that I lack
The world isn't fair, the world isn't right,
and I can't control how I'm feeling tonight;
but I can control how I react to the pain,
how I live my life while dealing with the strain.
More than two years down the line from that verse,
the first half yet reads right - like an all too true curse.
The second, however, with each day steadily loses its hold;
as do I, on everything that I once controlled.
Sadness scars, but fades with enough time,
and oft with the healing hands of rhythm and rhyme.
Loss lives, but eventually rears its head less,
like Patches, Brandy, Grandpa, Grandma, Brandon or Jess.
These I can ultimately learn to abide,
taking them with an ever steadier stride.
Remembrance turns from taking you to your knees,
one day into fond memories, honoring such as these.
Yet anger is entirely another story,
one turning never to gain or glory.
At another time, I handled it with care,
and did better at never laying it bare.
Now, it surrounds me at every turn,
and ever more for peace I yearn.
I wake to its heavy breathing at my side,
bed down having chiefly failed to turn its tide.
Even the luxury of a hair trigger just isn't there,
for I must simply breathe, to its cruel vestments wear.
It doesn't feel like power, simply rages and drains,
leaving me, weary, to deal with the pains.
Two more years of this inability I must survive;
seems so abysmal, when for simply every day I must strive.
I'll finally know again, with twenty-two summers behind me,
what joy simply being seen as an adult can truly be.
Young Bartholomew Trout
had his brain taken out;
with it in he felt pain
empathy and humane
felt compassion and kind
for the rest of mankind;
with it out, he was cold
and so easy controlled.
Now a head without brain
you would think be insane
but he went to good schools
with some similar fools;
quickly rose to the top
with a clippity clop.
Started stirring a crowd
with his speeches so loud;
“see the man with no brain
he will lead us and reign”
said the folk with blue hair
plus the odd millionaire,
and new people in town
who did not see the clown.
Now, because of all them
he became the PM;
told us all how to think
or be thrown in the clink
for it’s thinking’s the crime.
That’s the end of my rhyme.
Passed the old church at midnight
Night time dark, damp and windy
Thoughts about coming home to a warm bed
Hear sounds from the bushes and trees
Glimpsing human shadows
They move slowly and very quiet
The wind comes against me with a rotten smell
The smell is indescribable nauseating
The lights of a car further down the street
gives me a cruel picture
Three human figures indented and rotting faces
Apathetic and dull but driven by the will to kill
The car is advancing by my side, the driver he knows he's seen it before
Zombies love this place at midnight
Never go here alone on the night of Halloween
Who has not heard of it ....
I can still smell the rotten smell
Sponsor Leonora Galinta
Contest Name Halloween Poem Contest with Only 1 theme.
15.10.2013
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(2nd place in the contest)
I was born in '49 and turned 50 in the year 1999. It was the same year my oldest sister passed away.
It was one year after my dear mother departed this world. It was the year our grandson turned five and started school.
It was the year leading rapidly toward that dreaded Y2K. It was the year of controlled fear, preparation, and trepidation.
Would computers in offices malfunction and cause mass confusion? Would none upgraded computers cause air planes to fall from the sky?
Being neither computer literate nor the techie type, I simply did not know. I did not know what to do as my 50 year old mind was tossed to and fro.
At 50, though employed, I was not engaged in my chosen career. Yes, I turned 50 in 1999, and was anticipating retirement by age 60.
All of my life, I had longed for 'tomorrow' and launched forward. Turning 50 came with a sign post saying, "slow this fast train down".
It's not that I wanted to 'exit' the train; but I needed to 'board' a slower one. Yes, it appeared turning 50 created a desire within me to start looking back.
No, I didn't want to go back in time; but I wanted to see some things I'd missed. Things like beautiful roses I'd never noticed, and those golden
trees in October. I could not run like I was 25; but I was grateful to be free from aches and pains. I still had plenty of hair, but I started to see gray.
04072017 cj PS Contest, On Turning 50, Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
We live in a world where magic is alive
We live with incantation and the surreal
We live with the charmed and the fay
In a world of magic where enchantment swells
In a world where monitoring spirits roam unnerved
Unhindered wrecking havoc emptying laymen's joy
The Indian dream catcher a thing of beauty
The dream catcher a thing of magic and marvel
Is reputed for keeping away the evil sorcerers eye
With the dream catcher we can dream fast in peace
The war fought in the shadows requires totems
To ward off evil spirits and evil inclinations
To keep away unwanted soul trapping and journeying
Like a Christian says his prayers in a puritan society
The dreamcatcher lets us dream in a controlled spectrum
In a world where sorcery and incantation still lives
The carefully woven dream catcher kips evil at bay
The dogs bark and the owl screeches in the night
Ghouls and specters are trapped in a phantom zone
The lone panther stalks the darkness of the night
As a goat tied outside the pen bleats in right alarm
Satiated with the offering the other goats are safe
As the dream catcher kips swaying in the winds of time
A Sherman enters into a trance communing with the spirits