Long Disengage Poems
Long Disengage Poems. Below are the most popular long Disengage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Disengage poems by poem length and keyword.
ELOQUENT GEMS
Part 1
Been told I wrote an eloquent gem,
So here we go again, in this game that's needs to be renamed,
Intervened by dreams and quoted, far fetched but relevant preached quotes,
Ya read them and hopefully awoke stoked and provoked by what ya reading,
Exercising the power of fluent, forceful, and appropriate speech and some,
To teach this narrator purposeful and adequate ways to reach ya,
Reaching every one, everybody engaged, but seeing brings anger and outrage,
Instead you disengage and exchange for more delusions,
You’re back staged, illusions are here to stay and covers the rage,
Wagging a war, you foresaw the age of the future, confusion played,
Upgrade your software, I saw a decade of the super computer, the renegade,
We are all slayed and dismayed by this program, state this and never fade,
Inner Man made man within a quantum system generating under laid grenades till this day,
Ok, today are you afraid, a castaway that outstayed their stay and didn’t feel welcome,
You just got told, so unfold what sold you out, without a fake mold you hold as YOU,
You think you are you? You really do, don’t you, you do! Help!!!....
Few see and meet the inner self,
Even fewer know the inner voice and align with it,
It’s where the real wealth resides with no movement of a mouth,
With stealth controlled emotions, no speaking,
Finally waking up from sleeping,
Removing thoughts of corrosion,
From your mental conceptual health,
You're never seeking stories of wisdom along with real spiritual self-help.
I'm a man with Solomon’s devotion, yeah this is consciousness evolution,
Dam am I possessed, best be checking if I have a demonic spirit?
I ran from you did I? Lies!!! My mind flies higher than yours, your nowhere near it,
Your unfit to even come close to me, your lies will die with no stories to follow,
Your future stories die and didn’t play out in the past, time starts to travel fast,
At last I see a vast array of the distant past, seeing through the hour glass, I master this craft,
Your floating away, fast, slowly, fast slowly, no consciously aware natural flow, your actions don’t show........
To be continued.........
Quincy Mac
date written: 5.12.2015
Why am I losing grip of reality? Tragedy cuts me like a knife
Trying with my might to believe…that peace will prevail
That God’s Rain can relieve the heartaches of life…and eventually, it will drown away the strife…
Ashes are floating in the sky…
The ashes of our love
The ashes of our love
I treasured it…
Now, I’m crowned with regret...blushing blue
Breaking bit by bit
Honestly, upset…I want the best for you
Reminded of the past when I should be the future
Tortured by the voices in my head
Tortured by the voices in my head
They whisper lies in my head
They whisper lies in my head
In the dead of night,
I feel like you are so far away from my reach
After a rainstorm, there is a rainbow
After a rainstorm, there is a rainbow
Easily led astray by the mindset of “I don’t care”
All I do is drift away…as the music scars my heart
I don’t see you, dreamily going along your way
My dream is to be the happiest guy…and make it in life
I’m going through yet another phase of yesterday
What’s worse – my soul is shattered cuz it’s brittle in your hands
Reminded of the past when I should be the future
Tortured by the voices in my head
Tortured by the voices in my head
They whisper lies in my head
They whisper lies in my head
In the dead of night,
I feel like you are so far away from my reach
After a rainstorm, there is a rainbow
After a rainstorm, there is a rainbow
Easily led astray by the mindset of “I don’t care”
All I do is drift away…as the music scars my heart
Its delicateness has transformed into this…miserable mess
Wipe the crimson from your lips and sift away your fury
Immediately, you and I stride away into the nostalgic night
Complexion has masked my desires for sonorous singing…quit your straying
Astonished by your magnificence…your mesmerizing
Conspicuously, you flatter me with your swaying…quiet yourself and keep on praying
Craving your stinging stinginess…I shudder, making up my mind quickly – your outlandish nature is hypnotizing
Disengage yourself from your pleasurable passions
And your misleading fashions…
Elated by your excitable exuberance
Solemn silence intensifies and time flies
Sometimes people and things enter our lives and appear to be everything we want and all
that we’ve been longing for… Sometimes those very people and things are only meant to be
in our lives for only but a season… We create these “ideas,” develop emotions, before
knowing for sure what we have encountered; we find ourselves entangled in the “idea” of
what and how we would like for things to be. Before long, we look up and realize we’re left
with nothing but a bunch of trumped up emotions and a truckload of disappointment.
Sometimes we just need to be brutally honest with ourselves and expose the truth for what it
really is…
Overwhelmed by emotions rushing through like a whirlwind,
How did this connection end before it even had a chance to begin?
It all seemed to be perfect; almost too good to be true,
Without me speaking a word, you seemed to know just what to do.
Glancing in the rearview, holding on to what I’d hoped would come to be,
I must release, disengage, extract, untangle these emotions and quickly get back to doing
me…
Not an easy thing to do but necessary nonetheless and although I desire more-
I must get a grip, pack up these emotions and politely escort them to the door.
I refuse to allow myself to be taken out by someone else’s storm.
Maybe there’s a reason things appeared to be everything outside the norm…
Although this may appear to be tumultuous and impossible to deal,
I must see this for what it is and separate this “idea” from what is real.
Distracted by this diversion, unsure and anxious of what possibly lies ahead,
I must be patient with life and focus on what’s my reality instead…
Instead of creating these ideas based on what and how I’d like for things to be,
I must be still, search God’s word, and allow Him to elevate and position me to receive.
To receive the extraordinary things He has prepared for me alone,
An abundant future filled with peace, hope, true love, an existence second to none.
Although the possibility remains for something to exist between you and I,
I’ll just keep it moving for now, accept my reality, stand on the shore and wave to you
goodbye.
Poetic Love 10/19/10
Form:
The wood misunderstood the knife, the ax, the scythe
though for centuries it had sheltered man and should not
have misunderstood man's intent.
Wind chimes sublime mime melodies wordless tones
without rhyme noting not the passing of time.
The endless sky buoys the trees leaves on coy up drafts,
wafting orange, gold and green to the cheeks of cumulus white,
enjoying the dichotomy between soft and hard.
Thermal columns deploy destroyed bits of bough.
Seeds of all kinds entwine, caress, combine, they're of one mind;
they procreate by design, wind borne to other climes.
And so, the firmament complies for known reasons
not to be undone each season, each tree, a beason from on high
reseeding forests from the ax's treason; gifting the breath
on which all life relies.
Maple, oak, ash, pine, spruce and even palm, their numbers
whittled by man's metal, leaving homeless little creatures
trapped between man in the middle of a serious decline.
Even man's life is belittled for greed rules.
The smaller things those on wings are routed out on
wind and tide. Burnt sprouts crisp without, caused by drought
there's little doubt about their demise.
The beauty of a bumble bee, a ladybug, a seed blown on
an autumn breeze, they matter. The natural world man's torn
and tattered leaving empty nights without the chatter of the frog
and cicada. The owls they've scattered, their prey feed on poisonous scree.
Soon only waves of mindless prater will fill the wind come from the sea.
Forewarned by Prime now's the time to shift our focus to what's sublime
labeling pollution as a crime. Let man heal the clime
repay his greed with natures green.
So disengage decrease your horde, live a simpler life, be sage.
The earth breathes, in wood, wind, water, and metal now fire
burns the stage, the elements are God's gauge.
Damp this all to human rage.
would
could
should
misunderstood
wood
sublime
rhyme
chime
mime
time
enjoy
coy
buoy
deploy
destroy
entwine
kind
line
climes
mind
reason
season
treason
beason
undone
metal
little
belittle
riddle
middle
out
doubt
routed
sprout
drought
shatter
prater
matter
tatter
chatter
sublime
climb
time
crime
prime
gauge
sage
stage
disengage
rage
On a passing cloud there floats a beautiful dream, an untold one, a secret mission, a magic quest.
Unobserved initially as the sun has gently and graciously adjourned only minutes ago.
Tomorrow’s whispered truths stir in my writer’s heart, as I ponder how to make it happen, and with zest.
The tide creeps up with a bit of cool, startling me into a listening thing, with a wet big toe.
A mellow butterfly, who must have not realized the sun was leaving, buzzes past, in a hurry.
I am here now with the ocean, a few scattered people whom I do not care to know, and cooling sand.
A scuffle, and I see a young mother scoop up her daughter, grab a beach towel and leave in a hurry.
Alone on the beach, I watch the clouds roll in, bringing my favorite entity, my spiritual sand man.
A heartfelt sigh, a slow closing of the eyes, and I flow into the strength of my glory inner self.
My dream unleashed on a magic journey, a celestial mystery, known only to God and I.
There is no way to disengage myself from this inner journey, my face smiles like a well-fed elf.
Between the pages of the real and the unreal world, we sleep, my conscious mind, and my third eye.
Upon relaxing I hear the ending line of a poem my ancestors have been giving to me.
A golden harp dream of bliss, there is no hurry as my soul takes me slowly into a nirvana state.
I glimmer a glimpse of an angel’s hem, knowing I am one of the few honored to see.
Moonbeam world, starlight path, heavenly bridge, a world not so far, and a world of anti-hate.
I am living vicariously through myself, and it is wonderful, and it feels my truth best.
The puffy white clouds have lulled me to sleep, transformed me, in a quiet sweet way, in no way loud.
I am one with the night now, one with the waves, warm as a robin in her mother’s cozy nest.
A spiritual quest, urged on by a willing heart, a dream delivered onto me by a cummulous cloud.
One in Five II Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph Mays Written 9- 2- 2018
The Godliness of Adoption is...
Or is it not?
…A beautiful spring sprung floret of rose. A rose brought home from humanity's colorful garden of trust? Yet, it was not all that long ago when each cut stem, entrusted to its own gardener's worthy and caring hands?
Hands, now too soon stripped and emptied. Hands that were easily led astray by the coersions of now self-appointed zealots. They, with hands marked with ever stained bloody thorn pricked fingers, which now present each torn stem of rose on heaven-like sent pedestals; until met is a king's ransom; these thirty pieces of silver, being the ask of many an angelic bible-toting broker.
Adoption is...
Or is it not?
...An act next to Godliness when these disguised angels are loosed to search in the mist of this motherland? They, the finders of our pink and blue hued overflow spillage of souls.
This is the nature of guised humanity. Delicately does it assist society in the dredge of waiting collection ponds, pools of tears that gleamingly mirror you and I; and from where our memory should fill with sounds. The siren-like cries of which, now link with our distantly lost... ...or coldly disengage us of our not of want…
Adoption is...
Or is it not?
...The beautiful water lilys of pond? Those that so serenely float above an ever skimming conscience that is this God-fearing couple; a polarized complacency so sweetly lost amidst its own mesmerizing shimmer. They, fooled without inkling of shame. An innocence of eyes that fail to see transparency by such weakly given puruse. A view that cannot pierce the murkily veiled mire that hides just below its own watery reflection...
...And where underneath trails this tangled web that will soon unravel in route to tie with each long waited conscience…
Adoption is it or is it not our "Humanities with Consequence"?
New Jersey Identified Adoption shown as an open door will always yield to truth left on the threshold.
Penning my thoughts is an important part of who I've become.
Some memories hit me hard, like they're beating on a drum
forcing me to acknowledge them, and a poem is the outcome.
Others make me smile, and to write of them I gladly succumb.
There are moments when my emotions inundate me with rage.
Flames ignite inside me that I fear could singe or burn the page.
That pent up angst against someone or thing I have to assuage
and writing poetry frees me from rancor when I must disengage.
Not all I write is of personal experiences in which I've had a role
I'm a bit too private to compose an intricate blueprint of my soul,
but I open my thoughts when creating idyllic imagery is my goal
and reveal heartache when writing of lost love and I lose control.
I write because when my heart is broken, I allow myself to cry
If my wounds have need to bleed, I offer no excuses as to why.
I can break Cupid's arrows, and clip his wings so he'll never fly
near me again, for love hurts too much to ever say 'good-bye.'
My poetry can sing a mourning song or take flights of fantasy
In verses I can choose to be anyone or anything I desire to be
The power of my pen can turn a fallacy into the truth and reality,
and change a pending tragedy into one that ends quite happily.
Authorship of verses gives me liberalism to pen with expression
Sometimes I concede my guilt and write a repentant confession
As a poet, I think composing is a catharsis to bouts of depression,
without exposing everything during a psychoanalyzing session.
I express my feelings when I view the beauty of a moonlit night
or when I witness sunrise paint the sky with glorious pastel light.
I scribe romantic sonnets about a princess and her white knight.
This gift of writing provides me with pleasure. and thus, I write.
Submitted on August 30, 2022
For the contest: I Write Because... Contest
Sponsored by Anoucheka Gangabissoon
How quickly a future can change
Guess it was time to turn the page
Never been one to plan long-range
Still the circumstance was quite strange
In my life there's no way to gauge
Not when observing at close range
My path I would never exchange
Karma I would never enrage
I'd like if someone could arrange
A peaceful outing or exchange
Odd part was it had been foretold
Truth we tried but failed to withhold
The way we saw the scene unfold
What 'ere you might think times tenfold
It was night before we were sold
On the facts that the cards extolled
Perhaps to some that which was doled
Was a small amount to behold
Our eyes saw a mountain of gold
The way out of a stranglehold
A small smile still alights my face
Pleasant events rarely in pace
On this road but I will embrace
My new future in this rat race
Hands twined we leave our hiding place
Not one step shall I need retrace
Knowing the past we can't erase
Youth and innocence we replace
With wisdom strength and gentle grace
Wounds we bear proud scars we showcase
Though ugliness is everywhere
Take a closer look and I swear
Beauty forgotten will be there
Will anyone take up this dare
I fear how the future will fare
The past we must look to compare
No repeats our ardent prayer
I will take this first step with care
Altruism has become too rare
I want to fix this jagged tear
Off my soapbox no more the sage
From this topic I'll disengage
Quickly the story must be told
With an open mind I was sold
Cards kept repeating was the case
Willing to stretch my knowledge base
A healthy respect to beware
Know the universe is aware
My story needs not to make sense
I know my truth there's no pretense
11\06\19
LUDix-Rym Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Lu Loo
Forever, Love!
I will love you, beloved, forever, though fish to your sea,
where my poetry’s bones may be sand on a beach (waves divine
on land’s shore): Clay’s discovered that whispers (would rhyme), “Are you mine?”
still, no poem steals rest in sea’s harbors; rents slip on soul’s quay.
Let me never think LOVE’s just the love I’ve requested (trade this
for a that!) I’m so dumb I dismiss what another soul gives
me with no chance to taste it? We drown in sweet desert! Who lives
expectations and finds that gain lies in the fog of such bliss?
How can Love be things given if folks won’t receive? A child’s born
great receiver, but giving seems hard when a suitor’s at hand,
expectations consume us: past fear makes us feel on remand
from a criminal past. Most corralled sheep don’t like to get shorn.
To keep trusting most friends (though at times their words hurt us) seems small,
why should I disengage then when lovers bring crap to my door!
Have I not done the same; am I quick to cast blame? Is encore
what I long for? Let “Love” be defined as “Who’s taking my call?”
Let me practice receiving, and ways I can give (that show heart),
Most receiving seems easy to all (is perhaps that a rub
that we all should give thought to?) Do gifts say, “I SEE you?” Do pub
friends say drunkenly, “Buy you a beer?” where next round’s a tool’s Art?
LOVE, your feelings all gift me, just seeking them lifts me to heights
few may know (though I never may witness words touch you, effect
brought to life). Might tear stain, joy melt ice, no write views a defect?
May the Weltschmerz (in love) I do battle with lead you toward lights!
Brian Johnston
26th of May in 2020
Buckets of rain, boisterous as thunder, wrecked September’s farewell, flooding the mountains, the hills, the rivers and creeks. Wild and livid, coloring the air in streaming tears, erasing the faintest feel of a hopeful prayer. The moment spun out of control and I could feel my heart breaking, my mind quaking, my spirit shaking, as the mountain slid beneath the waters who weren’t necessarily hungry for their trees, but still, the rain forced the oaks, the pines, the birch, to uproot and slide with the same dark fury as the rest of the dirt, the mounds of black earth, slithering, slipping, skating to a place it wasn’t meant for. Sometimes on the tops of houses, other times on the tops of roads, always into moments they had never reckoned for. The despair tore through my mind, wiping out the rain and time stood still, quieting the roaring that was too loud to miss. Yes, I missed it. The sound was gone. All I could hear in my ear was the monotonous rain, pouring out its dread, its deafening rage, stilling my hopes and causing me to fear something that was so beyond my control. So wild and so violent. I saw Hurricane Helene change my whole world, the world of so many who knew her pen, and still, I found a way to shed her shadow and disengage her haunting. I found a way as so many others did. While the mountain slid and my heart felt afraid like it never had, I knew that the strength of mountain hearts would go on and on because God is still more powerful than her pen. So, even though I can’t erase her permanent ink, I can say, though I’m changed, I know what it means to let go and let God, to still believe that life is good.
rain dripping, clinging
ricocheting on waters
remaining brutal