Long Depresses Poems
Long Depresses Poems. Below are the most popular long Depresses by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Depresses poems by poem length and keyword.
~~~~Whimsey vs. Angst ( or-
You Don't Have to Be Drunk But it Helps)~~~~
Words of whimsey from my pen flow,
while words of angst I bury below.
Which is me, you may never know
if it's only pieces I care to show.
Whimsey is as whimsey does.
So frivilous, happy thoughts buzz
around in my brain , as if it was
full of nothing but fluff and fuzz.
Writing of angst is not my thing.
Words of sadness, words that sting.
Whimsical words always bring
a happier mood, a fest, a fling.
So don't ask me for a sad, sad song.
It would definitely be wrong
to bore you with an epitome long
that saddens and depresses the throng.
Poetry of a happier time
flows in verses and in rhyme.
I'll pen you thoughts joyful and sublime
if you just pass the tequila and the lime.
Dear people, I am reaching out through poetry..'
I am not contest oriented..As you might gather i
Am not in my person (a blunt character) rather
I beleive also
A direct one.' And a penitent one to a degree now..
Who is aware of the attack on humanity which
Has always been there.' Yet that now is speeding
Up in the present times.' (Added to this i find i am)
An accidental insider to the ( covid era )
Due to a chance conversation 28/30 years ago which i
am now after remembering in january 2023
Wrestling with airirg the account of.' I probably need
Another four hours solid to put the memory down
In text, i have done about half, yet i find it depresses
Me and i have broken down in tears, once i dig into my
Reccolections.) I wish you all the best; may God be
With all who read anything I put out.'
Six is to early a number
Yet even seven is not appropriate
A memory of
Tiny toes
Creeps
Through my sorrowed mind
Your laughter
Once enlightening me
Now depresses me
Your picture frames
Turned down
A face hidden
Forever
Life is too short
But what is there that’s longer?
The heart that you relied
So gravely on
Stopped
As did time
When they said, “He’s gone…”
A cue for a lifetime of lingering
And linger I shall
On and
On and
On and
On
Time is not there to tell the point of day
But to count the time spent before death
And time will never stop
Or it would have known
That six is too early a number
Mind
absorbs
thought evolves
words image in
tongue voices out which other one's ear hears
sweet sound brings smile to the face of other
hard words pinches
depresses
mind feels
bad
For Michael Falotico's
Double Tetractys contest..... Poetry Contest
Written on: 15th November 2011
The astrolabe – how it depresses me!
The thing’s too perfect, no room left to grow.
Repeat, refine, reduce – a legacy
from which no vital spring can ever flow.
The thing’s too perfect! No room left to grow,
no seas to sail. The time is out of joint.
We made it our religion just to know,
but failed to think we’d reached this nadir-point.
No seas to sail. The time is out of joint!
We once sought distant moons and unknown suns,
but failed. To think – we’ve reached this nadir-point!
The Sultan’s poet plays around with puns.
We once sought distant moons and unknown suns,
while shallowness possessed us, unawares.
The Sultan’s poet plays around with puns,
as modern aesthetes shape the harem stairs.
While shallowness possessed us, unawares,
Venetian warships anchored off the coast.
As modern aesthetes shape the harem stairs,
the fortune-tellers fail to spot, engrossed,
the palace guards, abandoning their post.
Repeat, refine, reduce – a legacy
that stultified a people. Yet we boast
the astrolabe. How it depresses me!
Nineteen months has passed since I did a step..
A step to attain one of my dreams..
Rumored as the land of "Just dime or penny"..
Talked as a land of so much strict Rules..
Rials their stable currency.
Oil their main product..
Towering modern ediffices abounds..
Architecturally design interiors..
Rich truly, as they said..
Islam the strictly followed religion..
Arabic their national language..
Riyadh, Jeddah, Maddina some of it's mainland..
Black and white the common colors of apparels..
Yet, roaming around malls..
Variant vibrant colors visibly in stalls..
Simplicity, that's what I appreciated here..
It was a barren solid land..
Almost all nationalities are here..
Finding a life; Making livelihood..
Maximizing what this country can offer...
Yet it's rules, the prohibitions..
Depresses the other life of man...
It takes away some of the joys of living..
Thus others, breaks the rules...
" incest meetings" are such as searching gold..
precious as undiscovered diamonds..
friends makes the stay here worthwhile..
Adopting and preserving the heart of humanity..
by: olive_eloi
02/10/2013
9:44pm
------------
We have probably all heard,
or at least felt,
"Life is what happens to you
while planning other things."
"Life" has this passive quality
when compared to the pro-activity of "Love".
When passive life is severed from active love,
health divorces wealth.
Depression expresses absence of impression
with and by and for active hope
for co-relational experience.
Trauma
is the opposite of solidarity,
as therapeutic communication restores
Where threat of uncontrollable stress risks
punishing loss
and suffering
and death,
permanent and long-term depreciated value
depresses hope for a personal
and political
and global faith in compassion,
cooperatively invested win/win economic
and bilaterally communal empowerment
politics as ecologically ego-theo/therapeutic.
Our communication spectrum,
as autistic trauma teaches us,
is not as narrow as healthy positive communication
through negative mis-communication,
dis-formation.
Such a narrow view of potential win/win relationships
misses the vast non-verbal communication times
and spaces of entropic non-communication,
un-formation,
Wherein lies
bilateral exterior climates
and bicameral interior climates
of win/win opportunity
and lose/lose risk.
Just as we hope to love good therapeutic relationships
and not live patiently through traumatic relationships
fail to mention a universal awareness
of unitarian/sectarian default choices
where-in lie tipping points
of not not relationships,
Not yet relationships
traumatic and/or therapeutic,
pathological and/or healthy
divested and/or co-investing
in love lived wealthy health.
Maybe it is also true,
Love happens
while not over-planning
a win/win cooperatively faithful life.
I'm listening
I get an ear full
My ears they are ringing
I hear your words
Charmed I see visions
I scheme - visualizing
The ocean waves they roar
Caps they flutter
Sand washes up on the shore
The storm it thickens
Trembling the floors
Skies they are dark
Calamity sets in
The dreary scene depresses
My mood now expresses
No sun in sight
No gaze of the hues of a rainbow
I have no iris
Still I see light
Dull dreary daylight
I see a tunnel
Soon it shall lift
And up my spirits shall be
The storm I see
I soaked each wave
You now hear me?
I am a shell
The ocean storm you hear
Up to your ear!
Bewildered
I am of sense
Be the waves as they were
I was! Hence
A silent listener.
I was reading Aristotle,
because I am just weird like that,
and as I poured through ancient words
I was presented with the fact
that what I read from classic times
saw far deeper then I can see,
he’s twenty-three centuries dead,
and somehow still smarter than me.
But there’s no shame in learning from
the writings of a genius mind,
and it’s comforting that we still
have this wisdom from bygone times,
but then I stop and remember,
when I have looked at all he wrote,
it’s tempting to think we have all,
but the truth of it is, we don’t.
We’ve got maybe a third of it,
and do we even have his best?
The rest of it has disappeared,
it wasn’t copied with the rest.
The originals longs rotted,
what we have copies made by monks,
what they had not, or valued low
has now forever been undone.
And though some people do assume
that all the best stuff was retained,
I think of all the books I’ve read,
from the genius to the inane,
and noticed that great wisdom can
sometimes come from an average read,
that one high point in the banal,
and who knows just where that might lead?
So even if the best remain,
and all the average works were tossed,
it still truly depresses me
when I realize all that we’ve lost.
Now Aeschylus wrote ninety plays,
and only six of them are left,
Sophocles wrote one hundred twenty,
now to seven can we attest.
And given how much those few plays
have shaped drama down through the age,
can you imagine what we’d have
if all those stories still remained?
In history there was Livy,
who wrote the long story of Rome,,
in one hundred forty-two books,
today just thirty-five are known.
The Iliad, The Odyssey,
Two great epics we all revere…
that cycle had six more poems,
and not one of them have we here.
Even the Bible refers to
countless books we no longer know,
what would our faiths all look like now
if to those texts we still could go?
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Seems there's some strange stuff going down
The world's not a happy place
Very different from just a few decades ago
World news wasn't right in our face
Since instant communications became available
Nothing goes unnoticed anymore
Someone sneezes on the other side of the world
And the germs soon reach our shore
Thought the Internet would be a real good thing
Connecting people all around the globe
As it turns out the bad news is instantaneous
We know if someone in China catches cold
There's a good side to this modern technology
But there's a not so good side as well
The bad news used to take a long time to reach us
In our own little world we dwelled
So we're forced to hear about all the bad stuff
We no longer are able to choose
Takes someone with a very strong constitution
To survive this age of instant news
So which is better, being oblivious to the crap
Or hearing it on a daily basis
Depresses the hell out of us sensitive souls
Hearing it from far away places
© Jack Ellison 2014