Long Dig Poems
Long Dig Poems. Below are the most popular long Dig by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dig poems by poem length and keyword.
Succumb to a rabbit hole, avalanche perception
Compiles tiles sliding, interchanging hues
Collapses cement rigidity command of tension
Cube covers corners interior cog subdues
Determined digits dive in darker dire dimension
Coming to glinted dug river bed treasures
Coalesce of pleasures drift in liquid suspension
Culminate in mind crowned proud avenger
Clever surface turner ensures dirt spurns limits
Combative burrow tunnel richly delivers
Coherent limber fingers edges can never inhibit
Campaign clocks widening prize winner
Squander of wonder prevents viewpoint shifted
Deficient Virus solution outrage renews
Seething bacteria rehashed in plastic indifferent
Daunt of grainy agitation, a cure debuts
13th January 2021
Kai Michael Neumann's
' If The Rubik's Cube Was Round'
Who in truth we are, we know not,
no wonder then, we are fear fraught,
since it's certain we will soon die,
reducing consciousness to naught.
Save in moments when love draws nigh,
we rarely reach bliss rapture's high,
drifting rudderless in the void,
nurturing thoughts that makes heart sigh.
Day and night, by dark desires toyed,
negating truths sung by Pink Floyd,
we ponder how we may reclaim
light of soul, pure and unalloyed.
There's no use to play the blame game,
so fixating on God our aim,
upon melding our head with heart,
bliss then becomes our claim to fame.
No doubt silence is a learnt art,
causing bliss ignition to start,
revealing we are living light,
enriched on adding love to cart.
This is how we garner clear sight,
byte by byte adding bliss delight,
in cave of heart, where God resides,
who reveals His form, lustrous white.
Dig in Deep, Poet
9/7/2023
Life is for living, don't wait for the Grim Reaper?
Take your shower, have breakfast, dress, take a walk.
Breathe God's air in and out.
So much so that.....
With joy, you almost want to shout!
Have a chat with a good neighbor,
Tell another how very nice they look.
Get out of your head, stop pondering
That only you, are the outstanding best
Do say kind thar words soothe and elevate others.
See your smiling neighbor coming to you?
In his shiny electric wheelchair?
He lost both legs in a war.
Smiling so brightly and proudly,walking his dog.
Yes, you have a delightful, cordial chat?
And you realize that now, you have what it takes.
And you finally, a lovely poem do pen.
What's so dang hard about that?
Your if I can pen a poem, transformed like magic,,,
Into..not how, but the joy for …when!!
Nine Lives Removed From Royal Dig Nitty ©?ß
(alternately titled: lion eyes hide sharp claws)
Aye attest tubby reincarnated
from one male Russian Blue
species Felis silvestris catus
named Morris if that gives a clue,
and during my fuzzy past
hence, asthma “Cats Cradle”
segued into kitten hood
fur hum lee established
type cats as (tin pan) alley cat,
a rather litter boxed gritty debut
t'wood become (later in life) tabby
quick as greased lightening
snatching in the air,
when tender vittles flew,
technically got fired (acquiring
appropriate nick names)
as fame (like a bushy cat tail) grew
viz perfect back up crooner
for “Cat Stevens”,
or lead singer for
the "Stray Cats" oddly
coupled, featured, and
incorporated with the guru
Horton Hears A Hoo,
yes him Elephant resembling
a humungous mandrake
from the, "Animals"
whose body heat could
easily melt an igloo,
whereby Eskimos accepted charity from
Korean philanthropists named Joo
(founders of Palaces for Pachyderms)
these lumbering creatures possessed
an exemplary photographic memory
(rivaling that of the amazing
deceased idiot savant
Kim Peek) knew
practically every detail
incorporating trunk their lines
(and could track missing link,
when felines shared common ancestor
but,...such petty files would most likely boar
and go way off course, and hence
will shy away being extempore
favoring a deliberate fore
ray padding around basically ignore
ring any rhyme or reason
suddenly ending this persiflage,
and thence to thee bon jour.
INFRA DIG
The effect of time on sculpture is to patinate
Albeit that such artistic skill may be innate
The age of such treasures whether early or late
May for most, be quite difficult to calculate
Yet still makes focused minds concentrate
Despite empty criticisms that can aggravate
And so much academic fury will accumulate
But still identify a new theory to formulate
Perhaps items from an old German palatinate
Or commissioned by a Far Eastern potentate
When commonly using leeches to exsanguinate
And sheriffs given his orders to disseminate
All this as research findings to communicate
Even with some dispute about the actual date
Most would have their reputations to elevate
Yet shared archaeology claims they can’t separate
Dig Deeper
When faced with an issue
cash won’t solve
— you haven’t got enough
********
One Thing
Forever
to question
Rebuking
the answers
In search of
that one thing
Defining
— the ask
********
Every Recall
Memories ...
the only thing
we get to keep
Everything else
with time
retreats
Feelings
relived
in every recall
To cherish
or learn from
— the large and the small
********
A Dark Capitulation
One year
follows the next
Until death
comes to claim you
Though most
uninvited
Its presence
commands
A dark
capitulation
You follow
it downward
Where heat
from the shadows
its fire
— commands
********
Enemies Waiting
No one
escapes
from violence
unscathed
But no one
of valor
looks off
from the fray
Enemies
waiting
upon
the hard earth
Where living
or dying
to each
— has its worth
***********
Split Screen
Everything
and nothing
together at once
The horizon
keeps moving
— duality’s myth
*********
Caught On A Tightrope
Campaigning
in poetry
Governing
in prose
A tongue
that’s been forked
Deceit
in the throes
Saying
but one thing
Doing
another
Caught
on a tightrope
Skirting
— forever
*******
Opposites
Just not
being wrong
will not
make you right
Opposites
joined
imploding
— on sight
(Dreamsleep: July, 2026)
~~["Dig My Own Grave" is a series of writings in reflection of mental preparation...
~~~Each scoop of dirt rids the mess where I'm to be finally laid to rest~~~]
Cleanliness is next to "Godliness"_ or so I have heard.
Sounds good to me_ no debate, or need for another word.
I'm pulling the skeletons out from under my bed...
shining light on old phobias way back in my head.
Crushing picked bones I've had to bear....
dust to dust_ sweep em out into the air.
Brought a good shovel cuz I'm diggin my own grave.
Getting my mind right to become well behaved.
So if you want it done right_ ya gotta do it yourself...
put sleeves up, pedal to the metal, and pride_ top shelf.
Don't know your thoughts about it or your true belief...
to know it was done by my hand is the highest relief.
Every day that we live, we become closer to death...
Each thought and action may be our last breath.
As long as we live we must stumble, toil and slave....
The best thing I'll be doing is digging my own grave.
This little guy in white is tunneling around the place.
He is aware of the many dangers he will face.
There are pookas and fygars situated all around.
Those adversaries can sneak themselves right through the ground.
He gets more points by dropping rocks on their head.
If not, he can inflate them until they burst instead.
Throughout the game, he must stay one step ahead.
Those nasty little creatures would like to see him dead.
Dig dug gets treats after dropping rock number two.
In the middle of the ground, bonuses appear when due.
From a carrot to a pineapple is what he can get.
As many as eight thousand points this digger may net.
The dragon-like fygars pose an extra threat to this guy.
The ability to spit fire is something we can’t deny.
Our hero gets more points when he is deeper in the ground.
I don’t think a better video game can be found.
All of us have heard of this 80, 20 rule, or haven’t you?
I heard that if you chase a 20 0ver an 80, you lose!
You dig?
I also heard that those 20’s won’t respect nor love you like those 80’s, whether those 80’s babies or our greatest ladies.
You dig?
Now let’s pause this thing, freeze for a second, going back into reflection, the image upon her face, when the news broke, the moment never can be replaced.
From her standpoint, her view; her heart, this felt criminal, more like a committed felony.
All orchestrated by you.
Now your 80 has left and the 20 don’t even want you.
You dig?
Now let’s chat about these beneficial, superficial, so called friends.
Are they apart of this class too?
The one’s who benefit, solely off of knowing or running with you.
The type they can always borrow from, but wouldn’t dare give you some?
They get all the benefits, most of the 100%, their 80%, and then turn and borrow the 20 that is left.
What snakes, what straight thieves are these?
You dig?
They will cut your throat completely out and then devour your spleen.
I call them some greedy things.
Sounds like this is so horrible to say, but not really if you woke, living in our today.
If you can’t see or hate to admit, just submit, but never wake back up, because you will be living dead, allowing these 80’s to steal all you ever had!
Do you dig all of this? I did!
for SeamusHeaney
1939-2013
A flap of wings
and agitated rustlings
in the darkness
jar forth protective prayers
for mice and voles
and winks of thought
that barely lit
on the page of day
before the sky’s hunger
pitched down-devouring
as if commissioned by
some cleansing spirit
to sweep away all evidence
that these girls had lived,
had sipped dew from buds
or feasted on a wind-born grain.
Doggedly elders buried bones
in shale, whispering,
“Thus we will hide this history.”
But Seamus’s spade dug deep
into the mystery
and taught us how to read
the twisting motives
in our own soft guts
by learning how to dig.