Long Dictating Poems
Long Dictating Poems. Below are the most popular long Dictating by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dictating poems by poem length and keyword.
The World Of Illusion
Just Like a bird in a guilded cage we are all
supposed to be free ? But are we really
free ? The answer is No !, in Australia we
are compelled to vote, we are fined if
we don't vote, as our governments make
laws that control our lifestyle, when life
was created by God he deemed all of us
were born equal, that being the case why
do we need a leader to govern as we are
all as good as each other, laws create
problems in society, and corrupts our
lifestyles. When society, tells us what we are
permitted to do and even what we say and
wear, is that freedom ?, the answer is No,
we live in a society were we are forced to
accept rules on our personal appearance,
it was alright for women to wear skirts and
men to wear long pants, and boys to wear
short pants all in the name of tradition
and this is dictating our lives, if we fail to
comply we are discriminated by society and
looked upon as anti socialists which in some
extremes can lead to civil unrest and world wars,
we are all prisoners of tradition and government
laws, we do things to please everyone except
ourselves and that is selfishness that needs to
change as people need to wear and look as they
wish. here are some examples these days women
can wear pants and men even wear skirts, they
are called kilts that Irish and Scottish soldiers
would wear into battles. Makeup only woman
wear allowed to wear, yet in very early times
men would wear make up, back in the Egyptian
dynasties. It was also the same in indian tribal
customs only men wore war paint, but it has
all changed. If a man wore lipstick in the street
today he would be laughed at as being gay or
a drag queen, yet circus clowns have done this
in there work amusing children, even actors
use it with no incriminations, so why can't
men and women have a say in what they
wear and how they dress and have nothing
said about it, if we were truly free we could
do all of this, but as long as discrimination
rules society we will always be forced to obey
tradition and follow the rules that suits a select
few and not the majority of the world we live in.
This explains my thesus that we are just like
that bird in a guilded cage, we seek freedom
but can never really be free. This is the order
of our society today.
Self reliancy stimulates political independence,
pragmatic critical thinking spurs revocation of spurious Partisan information,
vigilanteism guards against the Juntas,
systematic interdiction of peoples' ability to to procure food, self educate,
self medicate, and to self defense is a vital instrument in disabling citizens' morale,
it is true that several Companies provide 'civil rights' that are subject to repeal,
but these liberties must conform to security & production for the State,
the more detached we become from the land the more immense our collective ignorance,
Will to struggle recedes like red from the dying rose, spirit is sterile,
sciences are employed to subvert the passion of men, to mire the maternity of women,
to emasculate the youth, to assault the temperance of ladies,
as the bison were decimated so to fascilitate the conquest of the feral Indian,
the Anglo-Saxon farmer & tradesman were displaced by manipulated Markets,
corporations rabid with greed, fawning to increase world trade
and to blowt stock exchanges, enlarging theaters of war & dictating foriegn policies,
an arsenal & circus of judges, lawyers, politicians, academics, entertainers,
elastic options such as Inflation, minting money, loans, and criminal dockets,
Abraham Lincolon & John Kennedy desired to reestablish democratic banking
and were both slain as dangerous heros,
cartel suzerainity always wins,
an agrian ethos is too intractable an opponent for oligarchial commerce,
as laws are ineffectual to dissuade a starving man, leaves don't stop the rains,
there is no need for insatiable government when one can grow crops, build homes & and micro manufacturies, where trade is honest& equitable, no swindles,
division of labor for maximum productivity at the expense of individual health,
eradication of heritage to ease trade, passivity in exchange for integrity,
can libertarianism be retrieved from the vice of the mold maker,
will we deliver this odious model into the depths of the galaxy,
will there always be captivity,
regulated life is controlled life, and that is enslaved living,
words ' make the world go round ',
we are subjects of international law codes,
Freedom dwindles -
J.A.B. Copyright 2012
This Composition Is Entered For Skat's " Democrat Vs. Republican " Contest -
I was born married to the master of subservience,
fell in love with the master of somnolence.
I dissolved Reality, divorced carnal calamites,
and the raw ache of captivated chaos.
I commanded a tactical tilling of damning emotions
and made a bed among the poppies,
so I could forever seduce Sleep at the edge of Oblivion.
I sold my soul and barely chafed chastity
for a phenomenal phantasm of passionless pleasures
beyond Gates of Ivory.
Wafting winds cradled creativity and I was a starving minion,
a zealous zephyr, questing after the deep highs
to capture luscious laughter and opium kisses
from Slumber’s linen wings.
My psyche reveled in these unrestrained orgies
climaxing far above ashen alleys
where life corroded the living.
A patron of illusions,
always hunting for more fruitful fascinations,
avoiding natural navigations through wicked whining
and the sight of probing pairs of crescent craters
searching for substance in battered faiths.
Deliberately oblivious to the sadistic salutes
of Godforsaken souls;
sleep inoculated against plagues of Pathos
that dawned with prehistoric procreation.
Amethyst apparitions fiercely feigning blindness
replaced callous captions with textile thoughts;
such beautiful deceptions, flawlessly manufactured
to be reality resistant.
Yet, I was sleep abandoned,
blistered by drops of winged darkness,
deceived by twisted twins.
Euphoria arrested, phantom limbs flailed,
swatting swarms of bleak sobriety
but Death was already aroused,
masturbating memories I thought I’d purged.
Retribution for a life lived at the edge of death?
Pollyanna caught loitering, rotting in sweet dreams
and living in the mirrored mirage of a Glad Book illustration.
My disturbed somniloquies became railroaded ramblings,
paranoid confessions of a Happy Addict,
torn from forgotten scenes, stripped of sunny sided semantics.
Death swaddled my crippled soul
mummified in the bunting guts
of my patchwork playground.
Each time I blink a resentful, halcyon curtain cries
yearning for my cuckolded Life.
This restless, sentient existence is eternally mine,
dictating discharges of cruel insomnia.
Pinched, folded, and squeezed
in the fiddling fingers of inescapable reality.
Cast Down
I am a young girl with a delicate mind
to be molded,
Sitting in the front row with a pressed sundress
and hands in dainty white gloves gently folded.
My society is a cast system that allow me to go
no further than this station.
There is no upward mobility, no promotion.
The government genocide my girls,
saying there are too many in our world.
They are not as important as the males
that are pushed forward to assail.
My husband died,
therefore I must be ostracized
and live in the City of Viridian, on the streets outside.
I’m only 15 and the law is the blame,
that when my husband died I am to be shamed.
I’ve been here since the beginning of time put here by
The Master of birth,
creator of earth.
In my land singing songs in my voice
Can be a deadly choice.
I have dwelled in caves, houses, palaces, and shanty huts
I live in the hottest and coldest of lands
I’m a queen of nations
with many challenging vocations.
I’m suppressed by Taliban regimes
I am too one of God’s most prized creations
Living in depressed nations
Man forgot how special, delicate
and strong I am. But if I smile
it could mean my exile.
I must go through body mutilation
Only to rise up as a tribal creation.
My mother sold me
for a month’s supply of tea.
My husband suppresses me,
ignore me like I’m an invisible shadow,
a fly on his shoulder.
I the woman, have to break up boulders.
Not allowed to speak to move about with the free
spirit I am.
Used only for whispers and closeness at night,
Not for my mind or my insight.
To bring about the birth of another that will
stifle my flight.
who will ignore me while learning
the unequal culture of this place,
judging me if I am in the sunlight showing my face.
I sit in boardrooms among the tailored made suits,
dictating the plans of the day.
They stare at me with silent harsh words.
I’m one of the brightest recruits.
Being strong, intellectual and watching my back,
climbing the ladder pass the glass ceiling
Working with small minds being ever unyielding.
Still at times suppressed and cast down.
I refuse to walk with my eyes on the ground.
I thank those before me
that had the strength, patience and endurance that led us to be free.
They say that happiness is the key,
to the best things out of all that we see.
They are in constant pursuit,
of the mystery that keeps them smiling,
forgetting any bad they go through everyday.
They keep on searching,
running after anything promising a great journey,
through life as they try to forget all the dreary,
situations that befall on them constantly.
They seek to put out the fire burning,
deep inside their minds disturbing,
their peace and goals they strain achieving.
They seek the alcohol,
drinking it all down just to quench the thirst in their souls,
their beliefs of being happy lying at the bottom of a bottle.
The only cure they have prescribed in their thoughts,
taking the pain away block after block,
taking it apart till its no more.
Feelings of joy taking over all they do is smile, '
feelings of sorrow disappearing from deep inside,
they can feel it taking over,
eyes full of blood none left in their brains,
thoughts all gone they can only try to train,
their hands to hold firm the drink they placed their faith,
in order not to miscalculate their movement when dancing,
and end up spilling it on anybody passing.
Their feet staggering,
getting tired of lifting,
the body by every passing minute.
Alcohol meets blood now their minds are working,
yapping all that comes to their tongues no stopping,
no thinking just talking,
its exciting....
till the morning,
something is wrong his body dictating,
nothing feels right he keep on guessing,
looking around disturbed,
trying to keep his eyes from focusing,
on the light in the room curtains closed he is stressing.
His head throbbing,
too painful a feeling that thinking keeps him hurting.
Stomach running and that's what his feet are doing,
running to the bathroom to release whatever is corroding,
him inside such a horrible feeling.
Its unbearable,
sleep might cure it all.
Time is all he is losing,
energy is the only thing he needs to be gaining.
Dirty and hungry,
but the thought of food makes him worry,
he needs energy but not food, such irony.
The task left to the blood to detox itself, how funny,
that it keeps him alive and he fills it with trash,
is it worth it?
Does it really make him happy?
The Long Trail © by Trisha Sugarek
The Circle Heart brand on the wet rump rippled
as the horse shivered with exhaustion
the sun lost its battle with night and
dropped behind the far peak
Chaparejos, worn thin and soft fit his legs
like they had grown there
Dusty spurs jangled as he trotted into the sleepy town
A saddle that had seen a thousand miles creaked
and complained as he stepped down
the crown of his hat was stained with sweat
from the hard ride
Reins dangled in the dirt
The horse hung his head, relieved to not
be moving anymore
A drink or two to wash the Santa Fe Trail dust
from the cowboy’s throat he stepped up onto the boardwalk,
turned and gazed at the town
and the mountains beyond
the color of old blood as the sun lost its glory
He pulled a cigarillo out, and with one smooth
movement wiped a match on his pants, the tiny
flame igniting
He puffed and blew smoke into the night air
watched the town close up for the night
Across the street a cur scurried around a corner
a merchant keyed his shop closed and
lit the gas lantern beside his door
The work had been good at the Circle Heart ranch, the grub even better
But the trail was his siren, always calling him, luring him over the next hill, down the next wash,
up the next canyon
sleeping next to a small camp fire,
staring at a billion stars
wondering if someone, something out there
was staring back
He wanted to settle but he hadn’t found
the right place
the right woman
the right time
Flicking the smoke into the street, he turned
and entered the saloon,
honky-tonk piano music played
The doors behind him whispered back and forth
The patrons saw another dusty, tired cowpoke, looking
for a few hours of pleasure
some music, some whiskey, and if he could afford it
the soft arms of a woman
The cowboy saw weak town folk,
forever saddled to their days
the bit in their mouths dictating their lives
wary of any stranger, their gaze sidling away
Set ‘em up and keep ‘em comin’, the cowboy barked
Show me your coin, the barkeep growled
His days were numbered
the boys from the Circle Heart ranch would find
him and the horse
They would take their horse and probably string
him up to the nearest tree
Don't assume that because you can't do it, others can't do it;
There are lots of better minds in this world than you are.
Better set your mind to achieve what others have
And make their feats the light that rouse your flame.
Unless you were paid to do what you are doing,
Pulling people down is just a waste of time.
Don't judge people that you do not know;
And "don't criticize what you can't understand".
Pessimism is not a good attitude,
Be optimistic always.
It is better to push other up than to pull them down,
So you may have someone to pull you up when you need pulling.
Don't assume that you're right when what you know is just a bit of the whole;
And when you don't know what's in the other side of the coin.
Believe in yourself, and that there are others who can do what you can't do and not necessarily that they are known geniuses,
For every person has his own sphere of prowess.
When you are paid to say a line in script, you must practice your line well, so it's not obvious that it's scripted for people who have common sense.
Find better job that you don't need to be pulling others down or cursing them, especially people that you don't really know.
Don't spit in the wind when the direction is towards you;
You'll be spitting on your own face.
Lastly, love yourself and build your own success, so you don't need to hate people always for their achievements;
Have common sense and use your own brain, you don't need to be just following what people tell you or pay you to do;
Make yourself capable in the sense that you'll be the one dictating what others should do;
Be kind to yourself, you don't need to believe always what others tell you, especially when you don't know well the person.
"Ang naniniwala sa sabi-sabi, walang bait sa sarili", -old Filipino saying.
Gamitin mo ang iyong sentido komon at hypothalamus, meron ka non.
Ulit, huwag maging batugan, humanap ng malinis na trabaho na di mo kailangang manira ng tao, lalo na kung ipapakain mo sa pamilya mo.
*The quoted phrase in last line of second stanza was borrowed from Bob Dylan's 'Times They Are Changing'
December 25, 2023, 1:43 AM, PST, SPC, NE
Gods of glowing neon and gaudy screens
smile upon charming, charming patterns of heads.
All colors of hair, lit red, then green, then blue,
guided along invisible paths, crown heads
perspiring, chanting and glancing down
on marching, mechanical arms, then worrying
as they scurry along infinite, crisscrossing paths -
at once so ordered and so unfathomably chaotic.
Drums are rolled by hurrying feet
dictating the race of mankind.
A metropolis looms, adorned by a billion shimmering jewels -
electric jewels - and an apparition sways over the
bustle, silently watching, silently floating.
Giant chutes proudly puff out plumes of nightly black
and devils forged in impure fire do rise
to the heavens above, graced by the blessings of
the industrial revolution, in turn blessing humanity with progress,
imperceptible except as phlegmatic gasps
and the whiff of crisp green paper, distinguished by
wizened faces and packed in neat bundles.
Bulbous, aged fingers do trace from within
the sanctum sanctorum of a temple aged a thousand years,
charming, charming patterns of jewels
in intricate, frozen dance, carving out hexagons of perfect symmetry
from wearily cut marble windowsills.
The work of a thousand splendid hands
preserved by the unseen, dusty hands of time
did render the mosque palatial, its beauty heavenly.
The admiring eyes sing hymns praising the architecture, alas
they are blind, for the marble, white as angelic wings, is grey now.
The scientist appears, eyes hidden by thick glassy cubicles
yet shining through, lit by the endless pursuit of knowledge
and equally burdened by numbers, figures, notes
and the maddening myopia of man.
On the screen appears, against fresh white
charming, charming patterns of red, green and blue
sinking downward, worryingly as it would seem,
his uninflected pleas let in through one ear, instantly
shunted out through the next by the populace, to whom
the music of modernity rings sweeter.
First Place, Charming Patterns Poetry Contest
Date: 16th October 2021
I awoke this morning
To a brand new day
The sun was shining
Neighbourhood children played
Then i heard on the news
That made my hair stand on end
The Reapers elves
To our world they descend
Dressed in black
These creatures of death
To take earths life
It's very last breath
With them he marches
Dictating who dies
Enrolling the weak
As he casts his eyes
First Toronto and Buffalo
Near these beautiful falls
Cities, towns and villages
In darken deathly maul
They reach Albany
Near route 87
Many people are praying
As they look towards heaven
They are now in their thousands
As they walk with the dead
The discarded are left
In bloodied stained shreds
Our countries are in cry
For a saviour so strong
To turn this dark evil to right
Cast them out, to where they came from
Semaj is summoned
Once again
From his Kingdom in the Highlands
Master of, the Mountains and Glens
With Etto his droid
New York they reach
To call up the followers
In world wide preach
He summons the Knights
And hero's of old
To rise for the right
And join his fold
In Churches and Cathedrals
All throughout our nations
Burial vaults are opening
Civilisations salvation
Even the gargoyles
Leave their resting places
To join the fold
Their faces now grace us
To the North of New York
The old and the new stand
To rid this evil
From our righteous free lands
The Reaper cries
Hell is for hero's
As King Richard replies
Hell is for zero's
Both armies clash
In bloodied spoil
But there's no spill of red
On this free countries soil
Where all around
Lie fallen elves
The Reaper on his knees
For this is where he fell
Semaj stands over
This evil of the dark
With his claymore he strikes
We are now worlds apart
The clean up begins
As they are gathered en-mass
With the divine waters
This evil has passed
The very next day
All the old hero's have returned
To their place of rest
For on this day they have earned
Nations stood together
To fight all evil, as one
The corner has been turned
A new world has begun
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy-10.php
OBLIVION CAN STILL BE OURS
Others may come after the white man
to scratch another notch on that metal post of history
and seize resources to help their people avoid extinction
ideas other entities have been aware of for a long time
But the end of this struggle will not be known in our lifetime
the unknown, ominous thoughts that frighten the white man
living inside his brain dictating his fate
yet he is not the proprietor of his conscience
In whispered tones he speaks in riddles couched in hypocrisy
trying to understand him as he speaks his intentions
his actions confuse the rest of America
his superficial mind bursts with fake facial gestures
Like his trying to teach the brown man to live without greed while
his actions belie his words as he is the prime practitioner of avarice
the white man is certainly no deity regardless of his pretensions
he is not adroit enough to possess the wisdom of God
In giving advice to brown people
he survives by his own fake list of accumulated wealth
but America will know his false façade is not worthy of respect
and maybe his comeuppance will be what he heaped on Hillary
This is a time when the world needs more brotherhood and camaraderie
the survival of people is looming large with egocentric politicians
hell bent on mass murdering its neighbors and its collateral damage
war is not good for the planet or its living things
People are begging for peace hoping egotistical leaders will listen
but extinction looms large in our futures and it’s serious business
if this madness continues I dare say we will know oblivion
indeed humanity demands ultimate self-control from politicians
Man purposefully ignores the reality staring him in the face
he proceeds as if he controls time and resources
but time and resources are not finite
politicians grow old and fat as people live and die hungry
The world is literally falling apart and humanity is starving
Man’s own greed and hunger for more profits is devouring the planet
but unable to stop his insatiable, selfish appetite for more
he has created a path to our extinction and oblivion.