Long Detachment Poems
Long Detachment Poems. Below are the most popular long Detachment by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Detachment poems by poem length and keyword.
Why my heart joyous today, I don't know,
And leaps like millions of horses in one;
As the warm noon sun melts away the snow,
Glooms in me gone away; fears I have none,
Triumph brim-fills as though wars many won...
Strengths within like waters of seas amassed,
Wherefrom iniquities, like ice-burgs, smashed;
Spirit of God, like wild wide waters, whirl,
Within its vibrance, my ego gets crashed;
Making my sacred self lustrously hurl...
I see divine beauty all around me,
And aware of contrasts of calms and storms;
Youthful humility wrapped in grand glee,
Erases inaction in all its forms;
Detachment becomes my greatest of norms...
I hurt not any smallest of creatures,
I love them all now with their full features;
Honesty like blood in all my veins flow,
Goodwill and compassion as my treasures,
Contentment like life-breath in me does blow...
09 November 2021
Agendaless Exuberance Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
PS Syllable Counter Used
WORK IN PROGRESS
Why wait for a muse to get inspiration
When the words are there in your head
If not in the brain, perhaps in the heart
As seat of emotion and passionate drive
Where all feelings must escape to thrive
Creativity fails if reliant on concentration
Try detachment and an open mind instead
Ideas always find you, they need no chart
For that special connection one must strive
And free thinking can keep that hope alive
New ideas may emerge from recreation
Some fly away, others are heavy as lead
But capture and nurture is a good start
With no limits to depths one may dive
For old and dusty words one can revive
Short term memory loss is an aberration
And rapid recovery may work as is said
But it is like pulling all the strands apart
Yet creative success can suddenly arrive
Much better than what fate can contrive
Any finished written piece brings elation
Despite the stamina meter dial in the red
Yet celebratory drinks can taste a bit tart
Was it your own work or that of the hive
As there’s still no good rhyme in line five
I know,
in both head
and anemic heart,
other climate healers
right here and now,
compassion theaters
across Earth's internationalized space
and throughout tribal time
Breathe integrity's potential
acting
thinking
feeling out and in there and here
somewhere close
and somewhere far
across Earth's polluted oceans,
Yet my own everyday
immediate family relationships
neither speak nor hear
anything of this cooperative win/win integrity.
What am I?
What are we
listening to instead?
Internal climates of despair
about outside long-weathered detachment,
disintegration,
desecration,
degeneration
Win/Lose competitive commodification of life,
evolution of ego-expansion,
anthro-history hubris of detachment,
now rabidly fragmenting
into organic ecosystemic empires
of self-isolated would-be communicators
for and against our future experiential lose/lose outcomes,
or maybe win/lose, though highly unlikely,
in a ZeroSum,
winner takes all, capitalized Wealth economy,
or maybe win/win personal and public
economic and ecological
political and empowering prospects
of secular/sacred integrity scripts
scriptures
Regenerative transcriptions
still powering with
not not degenerative inscriptions
To Lose exterior nature, is to Lose interior spirit;
To Lose secular faith, is to Lose sacred hope;
To Lose integral health, is to Lose integrity wealth;
To Lose RightWing Win/Lose zealous zero-zone dominance,
is to Lose LeftWing ego-liberated,
not interdependently ecocentric,
climate health EarthTribe prominence.
To Win/Win
breathes in and out transubstantiation,
just this here and now
appositional cooperative,
secular/sacred compassion.
Curious,
such lack of re-attaching courage
to give voice to feeling needy
for shared compassion
with each other,
within our families, extended and nuclear,
within ourselves, eco-big and ego-small,
as with Earth's exterior healthier climate
prospects for future familial regenerators
of all species,
and parties,
and local communities,
and global universities
of ecological/theological inter-relationships.
He sits, spent, weary, fearful
Of the fading will to rise
To meet the day on its terms
Bear the scorn of those deemed greater
The feel of threadbare jeans
Faded, worn, mended, and re-mended.
He aches for a peace
A detachment from it all
A disconnect from failure’s success
A sunrise without shadow
A past without pain.
And yet he rises each morning
Beats back the pains, the longings,
That complicate his journey
Cloud his destination
Wear away his will to continue
To answer the bell
To go one more round with life.
And so it is that he rises
Knowing that he must
For he is who he is
And must do
what must be done.
John G. Lawless
©10/9/2022
Beneath the shapeless sky of blue
In the valley lacking a hue
Was an isolated thin pond
Where birds sang their short song to bond
Singing a song hoarse with throats sore
In the midst of their pond’s vapour
And dunking their bodies with threads
Into the pond, scratching their heads
In the midst of this quacking though
A foreign and sweet song did grow
A song soft and low in its pitch
With tunes so gloriously rich
From the bird of the pond of brown
With a towering orange crown
From an egg of a pearly hue
That flew down from the boundless blue
And was reared by the pond’s brown birds
Though the pearly egg spoke no words
Now that hoopoe bird did well sing
When it grew out from the mud spring
Taught by the blue scimitarbill
His unseen twin that came with skill
So Mani, the hoopoe bird, sang
Sang without lips or a sharp fang
To the simorgh bird that stood tall
Strong though unseen and above all
The brown birds of the pond quacking
At last heard their valley quaking
Quaking from the gentle ringing
From their adopted bird singing
When the hoopoe was at last done
The birds in fury beat their son
Mani wounded and in much tears
Flew away from any harsh ears
While flying and singing with skill
He saw his loved scimitarbill
“Mani, the simorgh has sent you
To sing an ancient song anew
To sing to every nest and tree
So every bird may sing with glee”
So the Prophet Mani prepared
To sing across the world impaired
He crafted seven tunes to sing
So all may feel the simorgh’s wing
From the valley of detachment
To the valley of wonderment
Singing his melody up high
And flew to the shapeless blue sky
I Held a Spider today.
Thats nothing, you might say...
She crawled from the floor, must have come through the door, and decided to come and say hey.
It shocked me at first when I noticed. The Terror tried to take all control. I wouldn't describe her as massive... but I wouldn't describe her as small!
My fear has killed too many spiders, this one was my latest test... Would I meet this spider with love? Or with Fear like all of the rest.
I knew what I had to do... Iv'e failed this test many times, I held out my palm without thinking; She agreed to come up for the ride.
I'd never held a spider before, & by no means considered them nice! But I had to face what I'm afraid of, rather than let something else pay the price...
She danced in my hands for a lifetime; disguised as a creature of dread...
Her gift was a chance to build courage, and a blueprint to do it again...
I pondered this strangeness soon after... How could I be doing this now? It felt like a dream, My Fear was unseen! I was holding a spider somehow!
And then, like a freight train it hit me! I knew it was cos I could see,
the Spider was just on my vehicle! The Spider was never on me...
I have an idea for a poem,
a collection maybe
of all-encompassing rhymes
that satisfy each emotion,
separately and together.
Once it's finished
no one will need to write a poem again.
There will be an epic
that details a personal journey
which takes it's time to create
a perspective never considered.
It will be about nothing and everything.
Oozing with satirical pitfall traps.
There will be a series of shorter ones,
three stanzas maximum, one of I'm bored.
Succinct yet beautiful and
daring in their line breaks.
It will evoke oxymoronic detachment
that connects us to humanity, past and present.
Maybe one or two haikus,
a limerick for good measure.
I'll drizzle them on top like caramel sauce
No cherry on top - indisputably overused.
I have this concept for a poem.
Emotive in all the right places,
the very antithesis of cliché.
I will write it in an eventual burst
of creativity that consumes me
at 5am for sure.
I will forget what I thought I would write
and think of what could happen after.
What the Wikipedia page might say:
Lauded, Multi-Award Winning, Influential,
Conceited, I'm well aware, thanks.
These dreams of grandeur ruin me.
I search in vain, for a poem
that does not exist.
I want this ambition to leave me
so i can finally write a poem,
a poem that feels like it's written by me.
Why does my consciousness get swiftly corroded?
Why my conscience finds itself in contradiction?
Why with strange thoughts, words, and actions mind get loaded?
Why betwixt likes and dislikes there's constant friction...?
Soul soft, as a gentle tender breeze gets soon swayed,
The spirit within, by cares and worries, is hauled;
Cracks in the axle of awareness make verve jade,
My senses, like birds and beasts, in slavery, stalled...!
This is, hence, I have decided to cleanse myself,
All that is making me drown in the sea of dread,
Should be shed and the soul should become a fresh shelf,
Wherein humanness should its motherly wings spread...!
In a bodiless, celestial space now I swim,
All that entrapped me, like a hunter's net, are gone;
Desires defeated heart and mind possess no whim,
Cleansed of all pitch dark clouds I see a dazzling dawn...!
Renunciation and detachment have been born,
And have started dwelling in me, making me light;
Indifferences, like dust in the gale, are blown,
My bond with each being has become rightly tight...!!!
plasma barrier
force field
pressed against
yielding bubble
slipping through
where have I been
precious energy
spent with
no return
foolishly
so many verses
wasted
treasure hunting
down helpless
vapid creatures
left inviolate
monster medicine
not
cold heart beating
icy breath swelling
preening scales
ticking claws
filing sharp
words
swishing long
slithery tail
pheromones
of worthy prey
lurking invisibly
close
deep rattling sigh
reptilian razor
head
slashes fro
coordinates locked
Kodachrome melting
vision dissolving
not his
homeless heart
matriculating
from detachment
to isolation
deep dark hole
retreat and sleep
forget the day
expand horizons
smash boundaries
find fuel for fury's
freedom
roam green pastures
trample evil woods
ramble fields of desire
turn the ocean over
scrape its depths
no limits to this
madness
no bottom
to this storm
train ran away
knifing the night
sparking the rails
bearing down
the moon
bust out
this cocoon
shoot the stars
drink the black
spit and
slam these gears
slice
grid squares
into spinning
sucking
vortex
yeah
and she was
always there
you just
stopped seeing her
see her now
and see you've
finally found your
monster medicine
You will realize ¦¦¦¦ wisdom,
When ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ age, and experience,
Gained from ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ vexing situations,
Yet, ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ You do the same,
There is ¦¦¦ joy in detachment,
Forsaking ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ pleasures, pains,
For things ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ enduring.
Don’t be a slave to ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ slave-drivers ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ explore the works of men,
Who ¦¦¦¦ experienced ¦¦¦ truths,
¦¦¦ distilled in ¦¦¦¦¦ words, wisdoms,
Which may grate your ears ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ don’t be prey to ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Rushes of anger ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ over cables,
¦¦¦ with emails and posts ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Without thinking ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ -
I have done that and ¦¦¦ living to regret.
Don’t drink bottled and sealed ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Its sugar, water and carbon dioxide,
Will ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ disorient you, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ don’t eat fast food ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
They will suck you into their ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ line.
¦¦¦¦¦¦ do not ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ see with closed eyes,
And hear with deaf ears, ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ music and rhythm can corrupt,
¦¦¦ make sinning seem ¦¦¦ tempting.
The age of innocence, ¦¦¦¦ is gone,
Every man is a ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ army.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ follow this advise, son,
¦¦¦¦ you are mature ¦¦¦ wise as me,
You will say, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ “Thank you Papa,
For your words ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ wisdom,
To my children, ¦¦¦¦ I will pass this wisdom.”
(Blackout of To my son by John Matthew)