Long Conversant Poems
Long Conversant Poems. Below are the most popular long Conversant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Conversant poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh, how can I love you beautiful,
Reverence
---Alas for you have a beautiful soul;
Reverence
You’re blossomed spirit, leaves you marigold;
Reverence
As I glaze upon your shadow;
Reverence
It’s so very hard to imagine;
Reverence
That someone so beautiful, soul
Reverence
Could ever be ignored;
~So~
---Alas for you have a conversant mind;
Reverence
Equip to stand the sins of the land;
Reverence
And if there’s were marriages in heaven;
Reverence
On bended knee, I’d ask you to be ~mine~
Hallelujah
3/28/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Put your finger down
If you believed
That Maandamano (Protests) would change the country
Put your finger down
If you were caught in the feeling
That the revolution has been televised
Put your finger down
If you believed
His excellency was shaken to humanity
Put your finger down
If you believed that the death of the bill
Was the death of the business of deals
Put your finger down
If you thought the heroes
Shot in the demonstration
Would be matyrs of a new nation
Put your finger down
If you thought the spectacle of the king
To the anger of the peasants
Was a victory to the masses
Put a finger down
If you don't know where to fight anymore
Because you were given the carrot in words
And a stick in action
Watching the same bourgeois class
Conversant in the language of the system
Back to steer ing the system to their pockets
Put your finger down
If you think parliament should be dissolved
the president should step down
Put your finger down
If you think we need better leaders,
And with the remaining finger
If you are pointing at a better leader,
You don't get it
It is the system that rewards
Those who understand
How your country works
Those fluent in the language of success
Fluent in bull***ing the masses
And leaves on the way side the rest of us
The masses lying in the blood of country men
Who died for a week of hope and excitement?
Maybe we should have put our feet down
And demanded different incentives for leadership
Less salaries
More service
Less power
More community
Less brains
More heart
Less legacy
More change
Less economy
More society
as we are
The country is a hydra
The same head always grows back
The day after the revolution
Everything is normal
Grateful am I to God for America’s great legacy
wholeheartedly enjoyed with freedom-bliss
in my country, regarded as the “Pearl of the Orient Seas.”
Joyful am I for America’s great contributions to my personhood:
my being conversant with the international language
first passed on by the Thomasite teachers to our educators;
then, having heard the scriptural Gospel* for eternal redemption
steadfastly preached by American missionaries
nurturing my faith to reach-out to others, sharing blest peace.
Now, I entrust America to the Lord, with earnest prayer
envisioning her to prevail upon truth-propped liberty
along stalwart biblical constitution exercise
midst sterling dignity as “land of the free”
marked by her “In God we trust” seal.
Romans 1:16 For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.
November 14, 2020
8th place, "2021 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA VISIONARY" Premier Contest
Sponsored by L MILTON HANKINS; judged on 11/24/2020.
Up, up, up
Is the atmospheric pressures rise
Innermost static zero-dynamic
Winds do cry
As all wing creatures fly
Up down in the midst of the terrain
Smoke fill island mountains
Brown, green, orange ridged volcano
Smooth trim valleys bronze and gold
Down, down, down
As all wing creatures fly
Up down in the midst of the terrain
Into the ground the sub-terrain
Blacken dark caverns and caves
Moles and bats conversant
Dampen cooled caves bears and other animals hibernate
The middle ground is the safest to be found
Ivory blue lines the skies
As all wing creatures fly
Up down in the midst of the terrain
2/7/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.2019©
You're OK
By Michelle Morris
12/12/2022
People look at you and think
You're OK
Just because you seem to
Behave in an acceptable way
Just because you manage
To function and exist
People think you're OK
And don't consider symptoms
But, those who are more tuned in
Whether psychic, empathic
Or conversant with psychology
Will realise that you're not OK
Just barely able to function
'Cos most of our issues
Are unseen and unheard
Most of them are dealt with
In the darkness of our souls
Mental illness, disease of
Our modern lives
Is still cloaked in secrecy
Still treated like something
We have to hide
Maybe if everyone
Had a soul buddy
We'd all be better off
Dealing with our OK world
Not just trying to exist
If you're not OK
Please find assistance
You are not alone
And could benefit from
Gentle love and kindness
It's OK, not to be OK
We're all facing something daily
Please be patient and
Gentle with yourself, 'cos
You deserve love and grace
I'm OK, you're OK
Is our modern goal
Let's hold each other high
Allow Heaven to heal our souls
© Michelle Morris, 2022
Sans Whole Body Out Of Country Transplant
hmm...methinks mebbe aye
can empty the ocean
one teaspoon at time bine bye
and after about
a bajillion years cry
tears of joy, when mine
petrified organs of sight decry
solid sea floor to mud dill
across to Iceland eye
would readily forsake
United States citizenship,
and buzzfeed akin to a human fly
hooping genuine emotional
physical, or spiritual
philanthropic gratuity
could be accepted
'pon being bequeathed
from this guy
'course after friendly
bantering initiated with "hi"
and once settling upon lingua franca
as modus operandi
this wholesome casual
conversant chap would appeal
himself as (non GMO gluten, and
monosodium glutamate free) bonemeal
suitable *****sapien reserved
quite pleasingly congenial
to shake hands after
mutual agreement reached,
whereby roundly accepted
apprenticeship contractual stipulations
understood asper "Art of the deal,"
an awesomely empyreal
corroborate burning man
Matthew Scott Harris
in effigy "FAKE"
immolation funereal
faux "cremation ashes"
topped with goldenseal
thee initial process
to detox and psychologically heal
from Trump Bite US strain A
(or alternate spelling
D. trump pen lumpen throat
or a similar
facsimile concocted "FAKE"
illness thereof - NOT IDEAL
for man, woman, or child,
who quickly become fodder material
(a bio-hazard devastating
entire folks future generations genetics)
symptoms easily mis
taken for nasopharyngeal
infection, where optimal
cure comprises bland oatmeal
with jelly beans, thus I app peal
to provide sanctuary else this real
threat to life and limb
will find me to suffer fools
unless via quaffing hemlock
rigor mortis from grim reaper ICE steal!
They said i was not good enough
Good enough to waste a glance on
They claimed i was not strong enough
Strong enough to fight battles alongside them
They assumed i was not brave enough
Brave enough to face their acclaimed barriers
They inferred i was not confident enough
Confident enough to stand for my beliefs
They presumed i was not conversant enough
Conversant enough to understand the set standards of society
They reckoned i was not learned enough
Learned enough to take a seat in their circle
They speculated i was not great enough
Great enough to ignite a fire of change
They concluded i was not worthy enough
Worthy enough to make a difference
I reflected within the walls of self
and i saw something different from what they saw
They thought they had crushed me enough to keep me down
I arose and dusted myself and decided to walk an extra mile
Because i am good enough for a second glance
I am derf enough to carry the shield and fight battles
I am courageous enough to knock down obstacles
in my way
I am self assured enough of what i believe in
I am well acquainted of the set standards of society
(Also i refuse to habituate myself to the limitations set by society)
I am erudite enough to have my ideas heard amongst great minds
(After all lessons are drawn from failed attempts, that's why learning remains an ongoing process)
I am significant enough to trigger a series of modification events
I am revered enough to stand out amongst a group of greats
I know the value that i hold
And i know there's more to me than what people think
they raised giants on my path
So i Knocked them down and kept moving
If you ask me, i will tell you
I'm reaching for the stars
I wouldn’t call what we do ‘blogging,’ would you?
I’m somewhat conversant with blogging and it would be like:
‘December 14th, I realized I was out of dental floss, so I called 112 (France’s 911) and they yelled at me.”
A poet might say:
The morning was pale and judgmental, the light didn’t illuminate, as much as accuse me of oversleeping. I’d just spit-out the last of my bubblegum toothpaste, when I tugged the dental floss only to be rewarded with a two-inch fragment.
The sink gurgled like a drowning swimmer as I rummaged through the medicine cabinet and then the linen closet - where we store spare soaps, shampoos, mouthwashes and the other detritus of modern hygiene -
but no floss.
I’d started the shower minutes ago, expecting a quick entry and now the bathroom had become sauna-like. French bathrooms have these box-like, ‘on demand’ water heaters, like 2 gallon coffee percolators, that dispense hot-as--holy-hell water, the mist of which, falling on the chilled, white, underfoot tiles, created a ceramic slippery-slide. I even searched Peter and my travel toiletry bags! Alas and again, no floss.
The ticking clock, that merciless, bureaucratic tool, mocked the undoing of my morning schedule.
In a moment of clarity, born of despair, I picked up my iPhone and demanded “Siri, call One-one-two!”
The French telephone system returns a higher-pitched, single-tone ring with longer pauses in between.
Three rings later I got an answer, “This is an emergency.” I announced (‘C'est une urgence’).
“What is the nature of your emergency,” a calm, dispassionate A.I.-voice asked.
“I’ve run out of floss.” I blurted.
There was a long pause where I could almost hear the A.I. dispatcher glitching.
“Mademoiselle,” it finally said, “calling 112 is not a joke.”
“Neither is plaque!” I replied - thinking of how proud my dental hygienist would be of me.
“Yet here we are,” I added, before the line went dead.
.
.
A song for this:
daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_21.mp3
Feed your goldfish before you leave
Love them as you love yourself
The bible tells us all fish are created equal
Some people prefer baby guppies
Because their mouths move slow and oval
They are smaller and talk in pantomime
Can breath underwater
And even look like one another all the time
Never throw small things in the toilet
Bony creatures can get stuck when flushing
Fish go better in a soup
Don't tell them that
Or add too much seasoning without a reason
Be truthful to your fish
Be faithful as you wish them to be
They swim about for a living
The Iliad and Odyssey are recommended reading
For people, not aquatic types
Anything other than Greek might suffice
Goldfish don't speak Greek
Don't know about the Trojans either
Luwian is foreign and hard to pronounce
Too many vowels and consonants
Along with cuneiform and hieroglyphic characters
Goldfish are not conversant in such languages
We recommend leaving them in a bowl
Preferably filled with water
That way they can grow old
Don't confuse them with gray guppies
Goldfish are gold
Some say orange or red
Love your fishes any way
Like the good book says
….or was it the cook book?
Snow Flake And Mountain
A snow flake came down, in turns, in twists, in blizzard company
Never lands, captured in an updraft, lifts up with other plans
A mountain positioned for a collision with the flake
Seemed tall enough to follow the movement of the thing
Aging in good time, conversant in snow and what it takes
Also knowledgeable in smaller matters, practicing due diligence
Waited, as mountains are apt to do, in these conditions
To receive the snow form with all its molecules
Take it to a final resting place along the lower face
Crystal flake continued though, on a sojourn to the sun
Still clinging to the upward draft
Not knowing what the sun might do to it
The snow floated, transforming into water
It drew closer to the warmth, to the point of vapor
But in a miracle of ice and cold, it fell or floated down
It drifted back to earth and hugged the mountain
Thanked it for a friendly wind and place to get some shade
Snow flake gathered whiteness on this little break
Came back to proper form
From the crystal core
And went on floating ever down for ever more
It would never reach the bottom
The mountain saw to that
It kept the snow flake by its side above the tundra line
Near a full grown pine tree whistling through the needles
Singing sweet lullabies of winter and storms gone by
Snow crystal glides in cozy circles about the pine