Long Dichotomy Poems
Long Dichotomy Poems. Below are the most popular long Dichotomy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dichotomy poems by poem length and keyword.
Star Light . . . Star Night
Gazing at the dark sky backdrop on this cold black night,
We are enraptured by the radiant view of bright Star-light.
This is a wondrous sight to behold by all on this Star-night,
Reflecting all earthly things gracious, grand, and right.
The cold beckoning blackness of this very special night,
Serves as the cosmic palette for unlimited points of light.
The enchanting Star-light on this marvelous Star-night!
This Star-night reflects God’s heavenly-made Star-light!
At once we realize the divine dichotomy between light and night,
On that mystical, magical eve filled with God’s Star-light.
God himself implores all who see His mosaic of Star-light,
To ponder ever gently too the dark beauty of His Star-night.
Oh! Radiant and grand Star-light on this most special Star-night,
We are forever spellbound by your God-given glorious sight.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany (September 14, 2014)
The value of a hand to hold
When the skies are dark and the air is cold
When the wind whips shelters with pushes and pulls
Is worth far more than my weight in gold
You stood 4 feet and fearless the day we met
A fierce firecracker with a gentle, caring touch You've been my loyal warrior for each day since
My built-in best friend with unconditional love
You cheered me up and kept me calm
While that same old storm outside raged on
And when the lightning stopped and clouds were gone
You were still my hero—standing tall, tough, and strong
You wrapped me in warmth and picked me up when I fell
You showed me the light that lives in my eyes
You unveiled gifts I didn't know that I held
Until I saw them in you personified
Even when I stood with arms crossed and scoffed
You steered me from the destruction I sought
Even when we bickered, hurled insults, and fought You held onto me tight till the nightmares stopped
Even though you yourself were a child
A true dichotomy of grit and compassion
You turned my moments of dread to soft smiles
Brightening my days in an effortless fashion
Even when the distance grew
It never changed and I always knew
Miles meant nothing for me and you
It's just one more nothing to make it through
But my sister is only human
And she needs love too
So when that old storm starts brewing
Here lies my promise to you:
I will always hold your hand, under bright skies and dark
I will always think of you anytime we're apart
I'll stand guard at your side should any trouble start
And I will always love you—with all of my heart
Summer soil melded
between bloodied feet.
There is gravel stuck
between bone and soul
in their arch. A curve,
a signature that belongs
to an individual, it is
yours and only yours.
It leaves a mark on that cliff
where children beat the heat
to feel gravity’s sobering pull.
Water is the safety net,
some simply wish to go from
Sixty to one hundred percent.
Maybe then there is freedom.
I think I know how it felt
when he left scuffed marks
and solemn remarks.
There was only shoeprints and
concrete. But there was also a
cracking of a shell,
and water flowing from its dam.
Who am I to blame a man
that wished to feel
freefall forever.
Deep inhalation and exhalation
breaths initially activate
relaxation, attributed to stress,
tension, unconscious vectors
woefully agglomerate
ache'n to gangrenous jackknifing noggin
dichotomy to alleviate
cognitive clog analogous
to emotional obstruction
that doth constipate
in an effort to allocate
opportune psychological uplifting
state of emergent euphoria amalgamate
ting in tandem with prescription
medication to leverage mental
quiescence holistically ameliorate
counterproductive suicidal waves
riding roughshod, which repeatedly
pulsate, oscillate, and nurse qua mantra
generate breakers animate
ting my state of consciousness
incessantly inundated with said
stormy sea re: brawl mailer
daemons intent to annihilate
stealthily, jarringly,
and devastatingly annunciate
without warning a tsunami
drowning spirited lifesource,
an undesirable nihilistic thought,
I unwittingly, hatefully,
and accurately anticipate
emotional tug of war
as better angels arbitrate
struggling successfully to arrogate,
and establish erstwhile equilibrium
lest body electric will self asphyxiate
such deep seated
respiration aims to attenuate
ninety nine point nine nine nine...percent
effortlessly injecting willpower,
and survival overpowering
strength modus operandi to dominate
self destructive negative feedback loop
constantly (i.e. daily)
vying to authenticate
practiced discipline, sans shut eye
transcendent mindset to calibrate
and stymie passivity to capitulate,
where resignation writ large checkmate
ting ability to experience and consummate
spiritual ecstasy, wherefore I contemplate
the simple practice the
benefits to coordinate
setting aside absolute
value able quiet time to cultivate
blockbuster, regarding crushing
beast within that doth debilitate!
Written: March 04, 2024 For Tom Woody Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If there was one thing I could rearrange,
In this vast and mysterious range.
I would heal the scars of rivalry and distress,
And shine a light on progress and its success.
If there was something I could do,
To modify our view of the world anew.
We judge, detest, and fear things too fast,
And failure to grasp a benediction seems shaft.
We're quite conscious of our dichotomy,
And fail to realize that we desire autonomy.
We must collocate to avoid extinction,
And strive for a world free of any affliction.
I wish we could suggest a single word,
I'd identify "kindness" as syntax is blurred.
As humans, we all share similar dreams,
Welded world without walls, warm streams.
A simple act, a smile, a hand extended,
A world where judgment is suspended.
We will handle any situation with care,
We might have had enhanced prayer.
We'd gaze upon life with each other's eyes,
And we would recognize our shared advice.
One nation would reunite across one Monde,
We ought to live in peace and love, under God.
I'd sing of oneness in all voices at every age,
A song pledged to shatter every stage.
No further strife, no longer hate,
Just a symphony of love, sealing our fate.
If there was just one dream to come true,
I'd dream of a world where dreams renew.
Where every child can laugh and play,
And hope shines brighter every day.
Our Cosmic Existence
We think what we know but the key confusion is always there,
When we ponder situations or events that have such high import,
And what we're used to dealing with daily at times on a mere dare.
In this cosmic realm what we don’t know we must try to purport,
Significant because of the infinite nature of deep dark outer space,
Which points toward an existential dichotomy of a most special sort.
Our knowledge of what we don’t know is of such an infinite pace,
Confounding whole the mortal complexity of a cosmic coldness,
And defying our very consciousness in the monotony of dark space.
We must confront our cosmic existence with such confident boldness,
While calculating what we know and don’t—without any hint of fear,
And seek a God-given azimuth beyond this aura of a fearful coldness.
Our cosmic existence lies in God’s light beyond this darkness and fear,
Meaning we must reach out beyond our mortal state in an aura of grace,
With our thoughts, our hearts, and our feelings so God can make all clear.
We can pursue this ethereal challenge now living in our human race,
While realizing we must reach out with God’s help to find this light,
And prepare one day for our mortal transition beyond to God’s place.
Our cosmic existence then is the two-way effort that we must get right,
As we seek out and find our way to Him spiritually beyond our short life;
Confident in our trek through a pathless land toward eternity into the light.
Gary Bateman and Ingrid Krukenberg-Bateman – A Collaborated Poem,
Copyright © All Rights Reserved (May 1, 2015) (Terza Rima)
...she was ensnared within her prized gardens
There among a tempest of roses.
Entangled in the mournful whispers
of…
Weeping willows
From noon till night.
Within her bustling haven,
the envy of neighbors.
A source of joy and delight.
But her constant aching heart
desired so much more.
Her poor lonely husband
Once he was robust and
brimming and strong
with vitality...
Now his soul has withered
in the desolation
of his ongoing prison of solitude.
Like a leafless tree...
stripped bare by winter's icy grip…
His heart was shattered.
For upon the porch's creaking rocker /
...his soul dwindling...
...its motion faltering...
Stops...
She suddenly grasped the vastness...
of her loss?
Such an ache colossal.
Crying out to God!!
her tears flowing like a raging
roaring river:
"Restore my free!!!"
A glimmering thought emerged in her
a forbidden whisper:
"Conjure a deal, the deal, with nature...
and it will be granted."
An Epiphany as a glimmering thought
emerged:
His thumb... a sharp knife...
a cursed gift...
a grower’s unholy art...
A malevolent pact with nature /
rending her life asunder.
Then new life stirred within the
shadow's cryptic realm //
From fresh tilled dirt and top soil ground //
A sinister transformation...
...a harbinger,
sprout of chilling qualms.
On All Hallows Eve /
stirred by the relentless creaking...
of...
the...
chair.....
She rushed and she stumbled
for she was caught
in despair's whirlwind.
Her heart pulsated
rhythmically in tune.
The moon...
a spectral lantern /
Drenching the desolate landscape /
in silver light...
Casting ominous and writhing shadows...
that echoed with...
The dread of Walpurgisnacht.
A nightmare,
a beautiful grotesque masterpiece:
His form, hideous contorted,
agrarian exhorted,
A thumb oozing... with /
red and green blood...
Nature itself warping and ravenous.
"My Groom," as she spoke to this agrarian figure.
Now Love is ensnared in a sinister compact...
never to relinquish its grip.
Her Fervent devotion /
embodied in the...
Mandrake Sprout's insidious clasp.
Slowly rocking, miraculously...
...a dichotomy,
back and forth as the moon departed...
Entwined for eternity...
Bound in a loving unholy pact.
As if pushing against that one girl who bumped into me on the sidewalk.
And never said sorry, and never looked back…
It gives me strength.
To close me into the car.
Against the fall wind.
The wind that tries to tip my car over, but never succeeds!
I shake off the chill.
The cold never wins.
Against me and this machine!
The modern technology, that keeps me warm and safe.
The heat is on.
Tilting my seat back slightly and closing my eyes.
But now…
I sense a new discomfort.
With the sun still out.
The interior of this machine,
Is starting to make me warmer and warmer.
Until I give in and take off my scarf and coat.
Turning off the heat so it’s silent except for the wind outside.
There’s never comfort.
Even in my own car, that I love and paid for.
Hot and cold.
Angry and still angry.
The dichotomy.
Is not lost on me.
What can I be, so colorful?
Who flies both day and night?
How can I be so colorful?
A predator in flight.
I have chosen so it seems,
to vie with God on high,
to decide with anonymity,
who will live or die.
Mindlessly, with disregard
for grace or soul or power;
Down I swoop without surcease;
all mankind to devour.
I had a choice but not a quest
to live or die or dream;
to work for higher consciousness
or continue with the scheme.
As I landed on man’s wrist
my tasseled talons grasp;
the henchman’s hood descended
as it past my eyes, he gasped.
Another day, another time,
perhaps, I’d chose the dream.
For the moment of this time
I’m locked within man’s scheme.
A play off Keith Bickerstaff’s “Higher Good”
Working behind the counter of a bookstore I have a chance to look…
to browse among our shelves and find the oldest books
I love the feel of them in my hands, to gently turn their pages and what’s more
I like to think about the paths these books have taken
before coming to rest here inside our store.
The words written on its pages tell a story…that’s well known
but the book has also made a journey and has a story of its own.
The story within the pages of the book is repeated each time the book is sold
but the story about the book itself…forever remains untold..
I recently came upon a book whose story is not yet through…
a tiny pocket-sized book that was given to a soldier in World War II.
(It’s interesting to note since they were small enough fit in pockets and gunny sacks…
these books helped launch the acceptance…and popularity of books in paperback)
It was a little weathered…its pages yellow and tattered by time
and I had to wonder how…from the hands of a soldier in the war
did it find its way to mine.
Did this soldier see much action…was he injured…did he make it out alive?
In the horrors of a war…did this little book help him to survive?
How much time did it spend in Europe?
Was its journey fast…or slow?
How did it find its way back across the ocean?
These are things I’ll never know.
For that is the dichotomy of a book is it not?…
On its pages it reveals its secrets for everyone to see
but the secrets of its journey shall remain a mystery.
So while I am it’s caretaker…
as I wonder about the adventures it has undergone…
I shall do my best to protect her
before she journeys on.