Long Demystify Poems
Long Demystify Poems. Below are the most popular long Demystify by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Demystify poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh! ye noble men of courage, another Hero is born.
Meet the man who demystify the terrors of our oppressors,
Out on thee oh cowards, Up and braze up for the the imminent freedom.
Your Fears are foolish, let them dazzle a thousand guns, they are mortals and
they fear our rage.
Enlist in the voyage for liberation, we cannot all be cowered.
Liberty is the cry of the oppressed, and Freedom is never given, it is taken
Emancipate yourself from the claws of these terrible corrupt impostors,
See the light of development sweeping the continents, advancement and
technological leap everywhere
Our lots has been a cynosure of bandits, overtaken by fraud and moral turpitude
Who will lead this banner to rescue us from the nebulous shame?
Over us they bellow, Lording it, they Rule.
Revolution is the Fear of the Oppressor, until the masses wake up from their
slumber.
End the reign of the bandits, masquerading as Leaders
If I go to the library each day
and seek out the knowledge there on display,
reading all the newspapers, come what may;
and listen to what others have to say?
Then, will I be wise?
If I let the children teach me their way,
drop my inhibitions, and learn to play,
asking old folks before they slip away;
their secrets, to keeping doldrums at bay?
Then, will I be wise?
If I study nature's wondrous array,
questioning space and the stars as they lay;
or unearth ancient pottery of clay
revealing treasures of buried Pompeii?
Then, will I be wise?
If I demystify ancient Cathay,
deciphering riddles of yesterday;
and evoke all the prophets when I pray,
absorbing all that their teachings relay?
Then, will I be wise?
If I condemn all wars, strife, and melee,
voicing my objections without delay,
while upholding truths I'll never betray;
and find the courage to walk from the fray?
Then, will I be wise?
From her lavished home
Into the body bag!
From the body bag
Into the cold freezing plant!
There is more to it
Than the freezing of beers
That's for you to hear!
She was beautiful
Or so,
She had thought to herself!
But not anymore!
The reason for her leaving
And the manner for it
Must be known!
He was called in.
And again she moved
But she knows not that she moves!
Now, she moves
From the freezer
Onto the bier
Into the green room!
But she wasn't aware!
How futile!
He came in
Clad all in green.
Down came the scalpel
Tearing her up
Like a butcher with his knife!
He pulled and tugged
At dead intestines
At rotting food remains
At the bloating liver
At the motionless eyes
At more and more!
Then he took samples.
Samples that will tell
Or even untell
The cause of death
Of this once-upon-a-time beauty.
Looking at the once
Privately private body
That was gaily covered
And that no one
Could anyhow intrude.
Looking at all before him
He knew
Again and again
As in all other ones
That we are living
In futility!
We are but wastes!
His job is to find
The causes of deaths
Of this body and many more
Before and after.
But he thought
For how long more
Will he do it?
He knows his will be done
Then his man pike
A grub would have become!
But when will it be done?
Lots of deaths
He had helped demystify
But what will kill him?
He knows not.
He only knows
That one sure day
The Pathologist
A stiff will become!
(An homage to Wole Soyinka. Born from the
poem: POST MORTEM)
For everything there is a chosen time:
for everything, too, there is a season;
now in mid-life, and past my former prime,
I seek to probe life's heart, to draw reason
from its nub; and demystify its rhyme.
There's a time to live, and a time to die;
a time to be young, and a time to grow old;
there's time to be far, and time to be nigh;
a time to weep, and a time to feel joy.
But most of all, there is a time for Time:
for its fore-ordained length has a hidden purpose
that the Creator gives, a plan sublime
that must be sought beneath life's outward surface.
To plumb life's rhyme and reason, such great depth
demands time which devours a whole life's breadth.
There was a time when words were derived,
not slovenly crafted with prefixes.
When drain meant to let the water out.
When cast from window, meant to throw it out.
That was before the arrival of de- words
De-water means to drain, why not just drain the water out?
Defenestration is de- French for, throwing someone or something from a window
Deforestation is chopping down the trees
Decoupling is divorce, or detachment of carriage from engine.
Demystify is to remove the spook.
Departmentalise is to open the gates on open day to the silos.
Depolarise is inclusion .
Depigmentation is to bleach or whiten.
Desensitise is to get over, your touchy self.
Desalinate is to go easy on the salt-shaker.
Detoxify is to flush and cleanse.
Desertification is to water the parched fields.
Dehumanise is the demise of individuality.
Demise is goodbyes.
Come On,
Let's End the De-s
De-End
Honesty presides in these fresh sonnets
Where breathing seeks to set example
For future generations on thresholds
Of honest wit staying apt and ample
Poets questioning meaning in long life
While judging and evoking honesty
They hold themselves above impending strife
And espouse flamboyant ideas-majesty
Honesty leads the art of poetry
For a poem swallows up the reader
Engulfing him with central bardolatry
Wise words breathe an eternal breeder
If poets just stopped phony contrasting
Perhaps poems would thrive everlasting
How does a new poem live forever?
Let me count the ways poems purify
Through female free-form and virile villanelle
If only they knew to demystify
Poetry that writes to catch attention
He did not get from his early childhood
A quiet child worthy of mention
Whose poems represented brotherhood
Reactions of interconnectedness reign
Sultry sounds stream to entice sentiments
A hope that senses will linger the same
That baby poems do dance like Bacchants
That the earth-bard could only smash thoughts, too,
So his poem would dance dreamily inside you
From the heart blooms colorful rose bouquets
Surrounded, a sweet seizure flutters upright
In gushing, garrulous melodic phrase
Made to fit undying spiritual rite
Hearts merge and hands do as faint souls entreat
Fragments of glass in the chapel's skylight
Form and message merge on rustic countryseats
Bucolic grazing land's tearful twilight
Poetry overwhelms overt outcasts
On journeys into the poet's caves
A mysterious abyss of absinthe
Pathways crossing upward to vivid waves
Where, at last, souls meet to exchange nepenthe
That simply symbolizes completeness
In every illustrious, starry sweetness
Poetry is breath
To us bequeath!
Written: September 08, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In the realm of truth and its design
Let us embark on a quest to refine,
To explore the truth, both wild and tame,
And demystify doubts that whisper our name.
Validation, the yearning to improve,
Space of delude is a subtle grasp, spry to remove
The mask of slander that we often wear,
Magnifying the murmurs of verity is so rare.
In this realm of words, where veracity lies,
Doubters roam, their skepticism in disguise
But dread not, for there is a task to be done,
To cast the dictum of verity, to detect the one
Who can bestow testimony, an avowal so strong,
To convert the moot, to adduce them wrong.
Beware the meretriciousness that may be disclosed,
Accuracy is what we abide by, not supposed.
Skepticism may veil our minds, so we must foresee,
The verity that lies beneath the surface, to set us free.
Ferret out the fallacies, the false axioms we hold,
To uncover the inherent truth, so bold.
We are experts in this legitimate query.
But, suspicious of the unresolved theory.
Assume we spot an asserter to negate.
Let us not blur the borders of real hate.
Who assures us of the truism we seek,
With every oath and avowal, they speak.
But beware of the untruthful, historically known,
For their niceties are but falsities sown.
The essence of our oath is to recover
The recoverable, to uncover
The verity that has been hidden away,
In the depths of history's decay.
"If you desire healing,
let yourself fall ill
let yourself fall ill."
Jalaluddin Rumi
Why, life is such, made of tricks and twisted ways
Life is such, made of sunny warmth and rainy days
Life is such
A blotch on our minds
A mystery
Waiting for the one to demystify it
A puzzle
Waiting for the one who would solve it!
However much ignorant am I of life and its ways
I can, though, fully ascertain
That life is meant not to be lived as if it were a ride
A ride down the river of sooth
A ride down there where love and peace thrives
Pray
Life is meant to be a torment
Life is meant to hassle us
Life is a disease and should we
Want to be freed from its poisonous grip
Why, we should only follow its course
Indulge in it
Allow ourselves to be touched
To fall ill
To fall even more ill
So that, when faced with our insurmountable misery
Life shall itself open up
And allow us to be healed!
Yes,
Life shall itself open up its gates of wonder
And allow us to walk through them to the other worlds
Those worlds said to be made of eternal bliss!
Each night I peruse the sky
Tilt my head way up high
Count the stars here and nigh
As if secrets to demystify
My heart it seeks to pacify
I search beyond each constellation
When sense in my heart primal agitation
And my pulse beats with acceleration
Because it’s there, the object of my aspiration
Right there before my eyes, my heart do console
I get to see you and talk to you as I stroll
Because I’ve recognized your essence, your soul
Larger than life, looking down on me, glory be
I still feel, though now angel-like, you embracing me
There is life after death, you are the Milky Way
Elated, I feel light and serene as a heavenly butterfly
Seek no further answers or dare question divination
Blissfully content to finally feel whole
Knowing you are here and there to perpetuity
Because there is life after death, you are the Milky Way
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on May 26, 2018 for SKY POETRY CONTEST sponsored by ANTHONY SLAUSEN - RANKED 5TH
Submitted on February 5, 2018 for MINUANETTA POETRY CONTEST sponsored by GREGORY BARDEN - RANKED 3RD
I gobble up books of holiness
Hoping to find the clues to demystify this illusory mess
I do believe in my faith, to it I do swear abidance
I do believe in unity, in the fact that all holy doors lead to the same place
But I cannot help getting more and more puzzled about our world
Yes, the more I indulge in it, the more I find it as being so absurd
It seems not to care about our being
It seems to only wish to keep on revolving
See the dead bodies being buried in submissive grief
A sight it is, which does feel as cold as an autumnal shedding leaf
Time, in such a case, much needed and heeded
Is all that is left to hope to being healed
Autumn does give way to Winter
Winter does promise us all, the joys of Spring, the warmth of Summer
Similarly, our scars shall heal
Life, this world, of such, does readily will
But then, I like not life here
Amidst a sea of confusion does it steer
Confusion and un-mindfulness
See, it is bent on being even when it has struck us with distress
Such was how I felt
When I paused and wondered about those vines
Those vines growing on those headstones,
Those vines caring not about that which I lost
Everything has to come and go
I shall someday no more have a shadow
But life shall go on
Yes, on my headstone, life shall go on
On my headstone, life shall say in an uncaring voice
What's gone is meant to be forgotten
Look not at what lay behind
Rather, focus on what lies ahead!
25th September 2016
Contest: Overgrown with Vines
Sponsored by: Broken Wings