Long Deem Poems
Long Deem Poems. Below are the most popular long Deem by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deem poems by poem length and keyword.
When I looked in to her eyes,
In it I saw a prospect of a paradise.
A paradise whose entry was not
contingent on my righteousness.
My days of startling agony, still battled my
hope of finding true love.
Like the Battle of Armageddon,
I always came out a looser.
But meeting her... yea the Vault of Heaven,
was like proximal to the Book of Leaves.
Her countenance and demeanor,
whispered melodic symphonies.
And her meekness and charm,
transited me into a world of ecstasy.
Covered In fine linen and sapphire,
she glowed than a continuous spectrum.
Her beauty was an Achilles hill,
that all men that saw her failed to vanquish.
Just like my maiden father Adam,
In her I saw the hidden part of me.
As a woman, as one I will be spending my life with.
I have never felt this conflagration before,
It was apparent she was my dream woman.
What can be compared to the taste of crimson honey,
The more it reddened the more it sweetened.
I have never loved like this before.
For her I was willing to exchange my soul,
To be with her till eternity.
But cunningly she unmasks her real face.
Beneath her could not be compared to an iota of grace.
She was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Who entered my life to distort and annihilate,
My hope of bliss.
All these while we paddled and flew high,
In the crescendo of our emotions.
It never crossed my mind that it was all a hoax.
A calculated sham just to make away with all I ever had.
Now am left with nothing,
Since her angelic face and docile pace,
Which I thought was the elixir my unending conundrum,
Was rather an emotional and psychological torture,
That has rendered my life defunct.
When I imagine her driving around town,
Adorned in my hard earned luxury,
There is only one moment I wish ,
I could re-write.
And that was the day I met her.
I always tell myself that sometimes,
It is better some people don’t come into your life.
But here I am know,
Wishing to right my wrongs and alter the past.
But it is so sad that I cannot have my way.
I know in the annals of time,
When my saga is being told,
I will be know as the moron,
Who killed himself because of a girl.
Though it may sound and look stupid,
I deem it a befitting penance,
For my obsessed illusion of love,
Thus love is an illusion that,
Emotionally disrupt sober discretion.
What can be compared to the stench of a broken heart.
"mathew" 6: 12-13
“and forgive us our debts”
(not only does a sheep get 3 squares a day,
but it is also believed that if one begs the
sky enough, one’s problems will just
wash away---this is to be the subsequent
consequence of ALL humans following
suit & getting down on four legs, growing
their thick coats & chewing grass)
“as we forgive our debtors”
(as the sheep thinking that their problems
are solved by an imaginary listener in
an imaginary trailer park in the sky,
so do the sheep continue grazing with a
sort of “live and let live” mentality,
until they are picked off by hunters)
“and do not lead us into temptation”
(so, the same imaginary listener who resides
in that imaginary trailer park, who seemed
to be the one that all the sheep were
comfortably baaaaa-ing to, now is
something to be feared as well? perhaps
that which one feels the need to submit
the whole of their will to is the same
corrupted core inside that would come up
with such a ridiculous hoax to begin with,
as found in the schizophrenic comment
here in the command to oneself (a baaaaa
into the mirror, if you will)
“but deliver us from the evil one”
(the EVIL ONE? is not the concept of
evil just that which goes against the
simultaneous baaaaa of the herd in the
grassy field? was not the GOOD ONE
just told in the last line to “not lead us
into temptation,” thereby being the only
“one” which can do so? make sure when
getting the ladle of kool-aid dumped into
your dixie cup, that you ask if said
dumper is EVIL or GOOD…certainly at
that point it will make all the difference in
the world)
“for yours is the kingdom and the power
and the glory forever”
(there is no other imaginary listener, whose
two-faced multiple personalities, residing in
an imaginary trailer park in the sky, handing
out its ladles of kool-aid, whose overwhelming
passion could be heard any louder than that
which dwells within the very heads of the
already brainwashed sheep baaaaa-ing out
the rest of their days, dissatisfied with the
actual physical world around them &
waiting for the end of what they deem as
a great big thorn in their side---that is,
the rest of us who are not convinced, and
who are not baaaaa-ing with the rest of
em’)
“amen”
(right there, in a nutshell, the whole lie
itself was conjured up by “a man,” or
a few men---all who had way too much
time on their hands & a rather limited
imagination).
when one stands up against injustice
when one spits in the face of those that oppress &
shows not one ounce of fear in their eyes
often, if fortunate, standing amidst others who have come to
the same conclusion,
at first, it is like a joke being told at a comedy club
where there isn’t even a drink minimum---
for the need for customers is so drastic,
the club doesn’t want to ruffle any feathers by
asking at least that as a price for sitting all night
under a roof & listening to comedy.
as the plague of convention
spreads like the contagion that it so blatantly is,
more come to the conclusion of the initially brave
(and to many, thought to be the initially “insane”)---
people begin to see that things are being done wrong to them
as well,
and suddenly, because others have already put their lives on the line
in order to lock arms & fight
what they no longer think can be ignored,
this kindling gives way to a larger fire
which soon spreads on its own,
counteracting the wall of poisonous status-quo, complacence &
all out submission to the will of those that
feel that they are unstoppable,
offering not a crumb to the individuals challenging them &
still, the seriousness of the matter is not fully understood
by those which have become desensitized to any possibility of
actual change in their lifetime.
as the fire continues to grow & spread, becoming fiercer with
every gust of wind, ever new addition to the flames,
those that felt unstoppable begin to question their own ability
to crush the fire,
if they deem it out of hand,
that is, if their kingdom is on the fringe of being
invaded---
and it will come,
the bludgeoning of the spreading fire will be one of never before seen
ferocity,
for examples have to be made,
in order for those in power to prove that they still have power &
blood will be spilt, in fact,
blood is being spilt as this writer types
(little puddles now, written off as “unruly dissidents,” only foreshadowing a river of blood leading to a vast ocean).
it is the spilling of blood which ignites the last few,
those that thought it would all blow over &
that their lives could stay pretty much the same,
if they just stuck it out---
when friends, relatives and neighbors begin to bleed,
be it through destruction of property, incarceration, injury or death,
the once comfortable are forced to open their eyes &
decide which side they're on.
ronic – isn’t it…?
The very essentials we need to survive
Are the same essentials that endanger and destroy us!
The very same people we love
Are the same loved ones we hurt or hurt us –
The very same life occurrences and events
That cause us to smile and laugh
Are the same occurrences and events that cause tears and humiliation!
Ironic – isn’t t…?
The same life we cherish and deem of priceless worth
And we hold fast to never foresee its end
Is the same life we mis-care for and waste
Toss aside and risk and gamble away
As if its value were less than a penny worth!
Ironic – isn’t it….?
The same sunlight that produces energy and cheerfulness
Is the same sunlight that burns us with its UV Rays!
The same smile that deems us cheerful and beautifully radiant
Is the same smile that label us “fools” to our predators!
The same hand that extends to help and rescue
Is the same hand we use to strike and knock each other down.
The same eyes we use to captivate beauty all around us,
Ae the same eyes that covet our neighbor’s possessions!
Ironic – isn’t it…?
A friend can be your worst enemy
While one’s enemy could have resulted to be your closest friend.
A friend lies to another – even for mercy’s sake
But, an enemy holds NO reservations or presumptions!
If an enemy tells NOT the truth
At the very least he shares his opinion and his thoughts
With no presumptions or reserves!
Ironic – isn’t it…?
The very dust we are drawn from
is the same dust we return upon death.
Ashes to ashes – dust to dust
The conclusive summary of a man’s journey
Is that a man’s life is but a mere reflection – a flash –
Of how his life PRIMARILY began!
“From birth to earth
From womb to tomb”
(More than just a West Side Slogan)
Connoting that life and death are bound like brothers
When often perceived as oppositional rival enemies.
Life calls for a celebration
While death yearns for acceptance
Not rejection!
Ironic isn’t it…?
Death’s announcement bares no good news!
We run from death and fight against it
Even when we know we stand NO CHANCE to defeat it
But only to surrender ourselves to it as we stand POWERLESS against it,
For death cannot be cheated nor tricked
Bribed nor negotiated
Death bears nothing to offer but death itself:
An infinite eternal flat-line with no further response
On any end!
We constantly deal with poetry which puts us in a soporific state,
we sit here apathetic to the cause of studying this beautiful art-
but Poetry’s breath Ad Nauseum about love and laments is bad for a date,
oblivious to the images, while attempting to turn the key we begin to depart.
Yet the door haunts us, novels, plays, yet poetry is the apex,
of this ethereal mystery within the maelstrom that is our mind,
alas this frustration is focused upon the conundrum of poetry being complex,
is it just a condensed novel, this Herculean Task of understanding the undefined.
There are many who deem poetry obsolete but tis rather far from its nadir,
now begins the unequivocally splendid power of the imagination-
hidden by poetry from the vituperative invader,
who’ve made an egregious mistake in deeming poetry a partial differential equation.
Imagination, oh what a beauty long forgotten in the age of reason-
we’ve been given Hobson’s choice, force fed Occam’s razor, given epitome-
yet good ol’ imagination persist like an excretion,
from the eyes of the true daughter of time, Science’s proficiency.
People assume poetry is the modern day Gordian’s Knot-
well- let us assume this is Utopia, were Imagination runs wild-
as she watches her forest, a black cat surreptitiously passes a man in thought,
startled because it is Friday the thirteenth his Triskaidekaphobia- this is all rather mild-
Just the tip of the iceberg was touched upon, just the tip-
Poetry and humanity is an oleaginous affair we mix but do not blend,
Or should we, poems are nothing more than what we put in, as if to dip-
just our toes, before we plunge head first into poems so as to apprehend.
Poetry is the Sun, as you are the flowers shined upon,
given warmth of knowledge and power if you are to just reach.
Not to let Poetry in as if to catch on-
give it back in your own form of speech.
Through your own imagination feed poetry,
It hungers for your reality, though not reality-
procrastinate not- hopefully,
for your conceptions are your sanity.
Or rather is fancy your sanity- decide,
it will affect your observation of poetry forevermore.
It will excite-
whether you believe it to or not- you will love or abhor.
Poetry is not arduous -
just do not assume there is a secret door.
In fact poetry is quite virtuous-
Seek only what you can give poetry, I do implore.
Though the rain pounds outside,
Bidding everyone in my surroundings
To wear a grim frown
On their faces
I choose to open the door of my house
And to run, bare feet, in the open
Letting my skin be soaked
With those drips dripping from the skies,
Drips which ruin my brushed-up hair
And smear my made-up face
Making me look as messy as would
Be a cave woman!
Submerged in my own fluid realm,
I close my eyes
And dance with imaginary friends,
All who like me
Can only care to please themselves,
Without even opening their books to give
Their stories some space to plot out about what those
Who do not enjoy celestial showers
Would deem to think about them merely by glancing
At their clumsy dance moves!
If I choose to let myself be swayed by thundery showers
Or by the flow of the winds enouncing of how grand
Our world is,
So grand that it allows everyone treading upon its soils
Some space to enact for themselves,
Their own roles in a script which has been
Written by some higher power,
Why can’t it be that
We simply feel inborn in us, the surge to be like flowers;
Existing merely for our fragrance and our beauty,
While allowing life to create for itself
More artistry
By giving permission to bees to share our pollen?
Why can’t it be that
We see in others, the same essence
That inhabits us?
And since we shall all leave, someday,
After shedding off our useless and lifeless corpses
Why can’t we make our duty
That of understanding
That only when respect is given
Is it returned!
After all, when I enjoy dancing in the rain
I opinionate not
About those who stay indoors
I, rather,
Am so engrossed in experiencing the mystery
Of existence according to my personality
And the physical attributes that
Have been given to me,
That everything and everyone else
Become mere fumes!
Respect is my oars,
It allows me to keep rowing my boat
Further and further into murky waters
Since, armed with it,
Ancient creatures fear me!
Respect is my drive,
It allows me to set up my car
Into racing mode
So as to reach the finishing line as
As a winner!
Respect is my breath,
It allows me to be virtuous
While I transit in a world
Which shall never be mine!
Respect is my birthright,
I swear allegiance to it,
But
I make sure
To return it only when it is
Given to me!
Lord, why is it that when we see articles about aborting your babies,
we move on to something else ... and even sometimes get angry?
Why do we argue among ourselves about that?
Is it true, even in these days of scientific break throughs,
that some of your people still believe that abortion
is not the killing of a Human Being?
Isn’t it strange that the killing of babies, which used to be considered evil
at one time, is now considered . .a right?
Even we that are graced enough to still deem it to be wrong, vote for abortion
proponents without a fight.
Knowing of the politician’s abortion voting record, why do
we vote for them anyway with some other excuse in mind?
Oh Lord when you return; .. just what will you find?
You said, “Love each other as I have loved you.”
...Will we argue with You also when our life here is through?
You see Lord we were only voting for the “ choice” to kill your babies.
Choice is the key word here, don’t you see?
I’m sure You must understand legality.
We wouldn’t kill them ourselves. We only pay others to do it with our taxes etc.
So if others I vote for push for laws to "legally" kill them,
what’s that got to do with me ?
I didn’t vote for them on that account, it had to do with the economy you see.
Am I my brother’s keeper? Besides, those babies have never met me.
You also said, Lord, “Seek ye the Kingdom of God and all else will be given unto you.”
Knowing what really happens when we vote for “choice”,
is that still seeking the Kingdom of God?
So Lord, I was thinking….. Your statement about Seeking the Kingdom of God …
..and all else shall be given unto you….. Is that choice too?
Is voting for politicians that we know push for more abortion rights....
Is that seeking the Kingdom of God .. if they call it "Choice" or "Women's rights"?
And if not … what will we get if we choose not to seek it
... you know... by voting for one
who has a record of pushing to kill Your babies.
Isn’t that our choice too? Do we get to vote on that, Lord?
I mean, You know, voting on what we want
that statement of Yours to mean?
Let us know about that okay, Lord?
I thought for sure you already had.
Thanks for your time Lord. I mean .. seriously …
Thanks for “YOUR Time.”
Though Nervous...
Yours truly, quite dissimilar
to a woodlark,
nonetheless, this human
i(r)onically positively charged
to forge covalent bond,
hence this stranger
axon impulse to generate,
modulate, and spark...
assimilate virtual digital connection
with mine quark
key aura, charisma,
and karma acquired,
sans "FAKE" trumpeting
assertion tubby Ozark
Mountain Daredevil, I feign
boasting as true mark
Putin on Ritz storyteller wannabe,
incorporated with hallmark
card writer, and thus
feeble attempt to embark
upon eurythmic quest
to facilitate online journey,
wherever the whim
of reciprocity, spontaneity,
and transparency doth
deem reasonable benchmark.
Blatant camaraderie desire
explains rhyme and reason,
(and collusion) if such tactic appealed
within scrunched, highbrowed, and furrowed
forehead this whim congealed,
eyebrows raised with elan to field
said poetic laced metrical pursuit
(grammatically well healed)
unsure what outcome,
(perhaps duff feeted endeavor)
might be revealed!
At deux score away from
attaining Sant Henny yawl
whirl wide aging cobwebs
glom rusty cogs and wheels
of me noggin pine to flip
(the hands of time)
growing old steals
often playing back gauzy past,
where silently musty
Old Virginny hoary memory reels
squeakily turn, yet revisiting,
painful remembrance of things past
only reminds me how this Scottish Matt
got stepped on by many heels.
Numerous unpleasant vivid bro
kin recollections of doomed,
foregone smitten loves flit to and fro
many awkward boyhood infatuations never
broached to secret paramour,
asper this common Joe
forever embossed pretty thang,
penniless and dolorous 1959 minted
baby boomer lass ne'er did know,
probably snickered (out of mine earshot),
a painfully shy lad, who stood
(rather small) apart from status quo
sported nerdy skinny as toothpick physique
encompassing scared kid accumulating woe.
Even at this instant forlorn romantic
notions finds this papa craze
zilly wished courage existed to
whisper "hello" during prepubescent days
for one gull in particular engendered
unstoppable fervent gaze
especially within cat's whisker
visiting her hypnotic gaze
leaving suppressed, locked, and bottled
languishing testosterone
squelched in confusing maze.
Tonight I will not write
of stars, nor moon,
seeds of wisdom--
just mind flattering
bloom--
Nor will I write of love--
neither here nor above;
though our dearest
sentimentality, the heart,
too often foolishly enacts
its own fatality;
and if I decide to write
(which I have not yet)
it will not be the common
dark vs light--
No, not this, low, literary-fruit
will I harvest, arm and lather;
pick high and low to gather--
likewise, I will divest of
good angels vs evil counterparts--
my rules, my pen; therefore, for me,
some spades can be clubs,
and all pointed diamonds I declare
are now well-rounded, suitable, hearts--
Nor will my Poetic-theme
be of great, vast seas;
nor smaller phrases
of streams—the writer’s
usual surge to roar
that calms to a sleepy bore….
and certainly not
will I write about depth
of self esteem--
the shallow image of self
often incapable of
of deep, worthy gleam;
though seldom do others
see us mere puddles
as we to ourselves
are wrong to deem
(though never approaching
the great-self,
alas, most of us
will only let dream)--
so, tonight, self for me will rest...
and if brought to theme
it will only be for rhyme, my easy best;
Oh! That Poetic Shopping-cart:
shelves of prose! Aisles of mesmeric gleams!
like Poe’s mystic schemes--
clouds feeding voraciously off headless peaks—
those fantastical shoulders we desperate writers
must climb if to find our lofty seeks--
all creative mind’s begging for such volcanic leaks—
No! I will not pontificate on these, for the best programmers
many do still believe are little more than
Charlatans or geeks--
Nor as subject will I attempt the Divine;
our soul’s hope to progress, as wine,
to some vintage state--though, without tasting,
when compared to life’s offered new...
such abstaining, perhaps, not worth
the spirit's residue--
Nor will I attempt metaphors yet more mysterious--
maybe, even delirious; though often told
such intoxicating views, like the morning dews
can be practical lifesaving for both greens and blues--
sadly, such pasture-valleys thoughtless men
have turned to breathless, rat-infested alleys;
No! Tonight
should I decide to write
I will write of other things…
I will write...hum….
I will write… simply, Goodnight….
'Helpless' is an adjective I never thought
my hand would write to describe the despair
that's wound its way deep inside my heart.
Honestly, I'm only the catalyst of my own life,
the taproot that strengthens my mindset,
my cornerstone, my anchor, my backbone
when I wobble in the wind over matters
that I deem too serious to contemplate.
Lately, my thoughts swing back and forth,
from heights and depths, highs and lows.
My conscience cannot abide the seesaw
on which it rides up and down.
It wants to get off but can't find the right stride
to control where my troubled mind goes.
What fulcrum will serve as a bulwark for me?
Today I turn away from the bitterness and strife,
but tomorrow my mind will again pivot upon life.
I am a pendulum, swinging in the air,
but I have no counterweights to spare.
I try to bury my worries, but I still hear them chime.
There's no place to hide from a revolution.
Persecution of the innocent is a wretched crime.
What can I do to ease such chaos and lament?
I pray for Divine intervention with the intention
that God's mercy will help humankind
endure their banes and lessen their pains.
But is it His plan to save man in this way?
I've become unsure that He will intervene.
With so much folly and corruption in the world
I wonder... should I keep my sails unfurled
and take flight so that I might never see
horrors in the night and the bitter blight,
the tragedy being inflicted upon each other.
Or should I stay to fight with my brothers?
Given my druthers, there'd be no choice to make
if greed in fiendish ones, they would forsake.
What hub could serve as the center point,
a crux where minds meet to ease the tension,
and erase the apprehension in our society?
If there is an answer it has not come to the fore.
Must that mean war is the only solution?
Is there no resolution, something awesomely sublime,
to be a lever of sanity and give proper perspective
to a world standing on the edge of fanatical unrest?
I've no answer that would end the volatile upheaval
or staunch the flow of blood driven by an evil ego.
To negate the vile ones who are assailing humanity,
will take a mind shrewder than mine has to reveal.
March 8, 2022
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