Long Dispassionate Poems
Long Dispassionate Poems. Below are the most popular long Dispassionate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dispassionate poems by poem length and keyword.
Many of our most integral
holistic
spiritual,
re-ligioning,
re-connecting,
loyal pursuits
lead us on an individual
inside well-worn faithful path
that monoculturally separates
internal inside climate issues
from Earth's vast extended family
outdoor voices
of concern and comfort.
Higher multiculturing
multi-generational
poly-regenerational truths
are also deeply sensed
outside inside quiet contemplation,
alone within four straight flat walls,
autonomously separate fragments
of global life/death epic issues
Inside silent still
contemplating past rounds
fired by negative Muses of DeGenerative Change
draws distorting hard distraught
fundamental flat walled lines
boxing in sad egos
trapped inside eco-habitat outdoor stifling
and freezing
toxic separation
within/without
severing our win/win rightbrain inside voice
from our win/lose left outside choices
as if two oppositionally defiant climate issues.
As if we are condemned to an unsustainable
bipolar
duality of mind
more chronically dispassionate
than a singular
creative dipolarity
of heart/mind
felt/thought
trust/truth
spirit/nature
Pursuing
inviting our win/win ego/eco-nutritional truths
physically-sensually whole,
while severed from outside voices,
harmonic and dissonant muses,
longing for in/out communion,
diminishes emerging full rhapsodic chords,
Earth-sung attachment moments
achieving wider stretching intimacy
engagement
climax
Integrity with those ecologically around us
theologically and historically within us,
healthy and pathological cultures
win/win and lose/lose,
living and dying climates
and all becomings
win/lose rounds of compromised win/win inside/outside change
in-between harmonic intervals
of full-octave Earth scale resonance,
resiliently polypathic.
Inside creations
grow more resiliently healthy
when surrounded by supportive outside meditations,
medication,
ego's ecotherapy of healthy choice.
Where Do Poets Go
I cannot write a tribute for a friend
who left our Soup in recent history,
because I have not been here long enough
to fully know the few who left last year.
So here are thoughts that I can offer now
in just surmising what the problems are
and hope this present group of gifted souls
will always share their talents as before.
Where do our poets go when all at once
we find their name and pages gone away?
Their heartfelt writings, words of wisdom fly,
afloat in air somewhere in cyberspace.
Were they offended by replies or blogs?
Were they upset with contest sponsor's choice?
Perhaps their muse took off and left them dry
to struggle on their own with no results.
It could be too, their time restraint to write
could not do justice to creative thoughts,
and it was easier to close the door
to words of imagery, they might display.
Perhaps they soon became dispassionate
to write and post, get comments and reply.
Though fun, these do demand much valued time
that takes away from other daily joys.
We cannot wonder why or what would make
those separate themselves from PS site.
For them, a sound decision made them act;
a choice each one of us could make some day.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: Where Do Poets Go
Sponsor: Jerry T. Curtis
Judged: 03/01/2016
Blank Verse: Unrhymed, 10 syllables, 5 feet per line
My intellect is what helps me.
I can jump into the purely rational space and deal.
But it's very lonely.
I lived like that for years at a time.
And, we sometimes love an idealized version of someone, the person they projected but aren't.
And maybe they are striving to be that.
Many times they aren't.
But still love still exists, intact.
And only proximity and contact keep it front and center.
Of course there is loving someone and being "in love".
And the being in love, that part is just not controllable.
Like wildfire it consumes you.
And for us dispassionate logical thinkers, it's a rather irrational but heady space to be in.
And for those who can't process emotion in real time.
Well we are more than a step out of pace.
We are left holding the bag when someone emotionally ducks out and runs for cover.
To be emotionally ghosted is about the loneliest place you can be.
Of course they do it because they can't face the emotion either. Even if perhaps they elicited it.
And so its many lonely trails and several lonely tales I have of love gained and lost to time.
Sometimes I know what happened, and sometimes just poof in the wind it was released and gone.
I try not to malign the lover, even if they failed basic human communication. Some can't face the heat. I get it.
But it's why many times I prefer the lonely trail.
Alone is safer, darker but free. Free of all restrictions to be whatever I may be.
For life is just a journey and there are only mere blips of rest along its path.
And chaos will occasionally visit and subject you to its wrath.
Till in the end it takes you.
Till in the end it takes you. Artimus (C) Susan Manley 3/5/24 7:04PM
Deeply immersed in dispassionate thought,
Of that moment which comes but once amidst
The whirling storm, daring Hannibal fixed
His eagle eye upon the chance and caught
The glory old Gods didst offer unto him;
He who kept his head whilst all others failed
Has known that instant demand from within:-
Fury borrows frenzy as needs avails.
Should all men, at some such appointed hour,
Find themselves at their own fast closing
Gate,
Then bravely toss the dice and chance
With fate...
For what worth mere chance if not empowered?
Better die as Hector dragged by the heels --
To be borne back homewards laid on
Your shield!
This LeftMind dominant
viral virtue
of practicing RightBody patience
Is a coverup
for feeling deep impatience.
Feeling impatient is not as hopeful
as exploring active curiosity.
Curiosity
about why someone,
including my own anthro-privileged self,
would default to live win/lose
competitively
When our healthiest,
and safest
economically enlightened
and politically empowering experiences
have always grown choices to live
liberally
radically
integrally
EarthTribally
sacredly
neurosystemically
ecologically
more fully win/win,
cooperatively co-invested.
Passionate curiosity might kill the occasional cat;
but probably not more deadly
than dispassionate lack of curiosity.
Besides,
passionate curiosity can also be more fun
than boring impatience
More joyful,
than sad
mad
bad
More curiously glad
even appropriately win/win consenting adult/adult lusty
More sad/glad soulful
preferring mindful disciplines
like healthy therapeutic dances
and well-sung
resiliently brilliant love songs.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Holmes, I am enormously elated,
how it all started, may I ask, though somewhat belated.”
“I was working silently solving intricate murder cases,
until Conan Doyle picked me up from many sleuth faces,
narrated my exploits in words of my friend, Dr. Watson,
and since then the limelight upon me was always on”.
“You had been a private detective par excellence,
what was your forte in the profession in essence?”
“I believed in proficiency with careful observation,
used common sense for the methodical deduction,
in order to solve surely the manipulated mystery
I applied logical reasoning, forensic science helped me,
derived rational conclusion before the culprit was gone
and I said to my friend, it’s elementary, dear Watson.”
“You liked to spend time leisurely smoking pipe at home,
you looked dispassionate, what energized you, Mr. Holmes?”
“Whenever I got complex investigations so much hard
to deal with like the ones given to me by the Scotland Yard,
I was excited instantly if these were tough mystery ridden,
discovered within simple evidences the vital clues hidden,
I showed then intentionally the flair of my showmanship
to impress observers my thinking line in me I used to keep.”
“A legendary detective you had made yourself people see,
you were considered an iconic character, do you agree?”
“Solving mysteries for justice to the victims I strived to try,
I was the only one doing this in the Victorian era gone by.
I was happy receiving for my exciting job so much admiration,
live content retired in a farm with beekeeping as occupation.”
(Sherlock Holmes is a fictional detective character created by
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle)
_________________
February 11, 2022
Contest : A Conversation With A Fictional Character
Sponsored by : Natasha L Scragg
Dwindling are the final nights,
the ebony skies on which you etch
your stark ethereal aura each year,
your superlunary circle of shine.
Mantic god’s eye, you watch us,
enigmatic as we inventory our yesterdays.
as we ponder new beginnings,
as we behold your lustrous crown.
Naked wreath of pallid gleam,
cleansing the lingering indelible ink
we all carry from our enfeebled judgments,
from our institutional callousness.
We never comprehend you.
We only see our plots and perils in you,
Still, in your stable presence,
your dispassionate appearance,
your silver shimmer to which
we ascribe our madness,
odd though it may seem,
we find a new year’s hope.
Quantities of time feel nothing.
Calculating, accumulating and subtracting,
days and weeks,
months and years and decades
roll past our eyes and ears
our growing and shrinking stomachs
to leave their strong and weak-grooved rings
of satiation and emaciation
I only feel and remember qualities of EarthTime
co-arising passions and co-gravitating pleasures
or dissonant dispassionate and painful reactions
of fear about time's future survivable qualities
anger about oppressive time's past conflicts
burning hot bright volcano hatreds
adrenaline flowing flashes
uncontrollable as suppressed bliss
only completely invested, immersed,
passionately engaged within a resiliently timeless
moment of deeply resonant quality
too seldom aware of Earth's intelligent co-present
co-passionate
co-binary sacred/organic fertility
of divinely humane grace
eternally synergetic dancing
through rationally measured quantities
of merely mortal metric times.
Sacred qualities of time's regenerate evolutions
long to feel everything belonging once again together,
beyond a foggy lapse of co-empathic solidarity
ReLigiously re-membering our golden era
co-relational peaceful qualities
richly feeding on Earth's matriarchal placentas
when all felt now-ly timeless
and originally right
feeling healthy
nurturing trusted truths
of loving kindness
feeling qualitatively good
and warm-full beauty filled.
Perhaps here lies our deeper measure
of time's healthiest meaning-full quality,
economically cooperative
and politically synergetic
and ecologically co-relational
EarthMother organically breeding
and sacredly feeding ecotherapy
Deep dancing
while surface surfing
through this timeless now
of polypathic potential win/win consciousness
Qualitative feelings positive through negative
emerging from and for and through and in and on and over each now
submerging into past speciating
branching co-passion's pleasure impressed re-memories
and dispassion's painful suppressed memories
Trees of old strong-rooted felt re-ligion
qualitatively comparing
contrasting
our original embryonic nurturing qualities
for richer eco-political sacred health
and less EarthMother dis-organic pathology
through this eternally regenerating now
quality of TaoTime's feeling peace-full
pronoia
win/win ego/eco-conscious co-passion.
GodTalk,
like ManListen,
unfolds on a monotheistic
anthropocentric
prefrontal cortex map
Where cosmological belief systems
are either True
or bipolar oppositionally False
Either God is
or is not
recreated in Human sapient images
Intelligibly cognizing
an underlying
deeply sacred Gaia Hypothesis
neurosystemic
polyculturally connected
polyvagal sexsensory territory
Peak panentheistic sacred-felt
root to crown
body to mind communing experiences
emerging
maturing from organically inclusive relationships
Multigenerationally redundant
multiculturally reiterative
trustworthy
safe
healthy
peaceful
co-empathic pronoia belonging.
Normally trusted intrinsic values
and not always mistrusted extrinsic disvalues
FatherSun sacred enlightenment maps
polyvagally crown-rooted
in EarthMother trust and distrust
empowering democratic intention
and disempowering autocratic over-extension
Organically felt healthy values
deeply etched
in elder RightBrain stem
embodied pleasure/displeasure
sacred sexsensory nerve communication systems
Of nonverbal and preverbal
paranoia anxious
and pronoia anticipating
dissonance questioning
and resonance questing
complex neurosystemic
dipolar co-arising
both/and felt paradoxical appositions
Dissociative body conservation
and/or
associative mind liberation
Dispassionate root
mind and body
map and territory organic systems
surviving
and/or
thriving
compassionate crowning flower
of co-passionately rooted
anthropocentric co-intelligence.
Nonverbally felt intuitions
upflowing toward verbally thought cognitions
informing win/win bilaterally communing
thriving/threatening polyvagal communication
Inspiring
irreligious dissociative retribution
and/or
re-ligious associative restoration
crown/root sacred transformation
Discontented uneasy organs
and/or
peace-contented healthy brains
Cognitively longing minds
to autocratically survive
and/or
intuitively belonging bodies
to democratically thrive.
No, she said, it just wasn’t worth a try.
Her life, she said, it must come to an end.
Goddess Latona of the darkness said goodbye.
Mother enigmatic could no longer pretend.
Her children caught in advancing adulthood,
we never clearly understood her daily anguish.
She exposed parts of her hidden to us by motherhood.
How dare she bring her life to an enfeebled finish!
At 84, her joyless life racked with chronic trauma.
We sat feigning dispassionate deliberation,
Hearing her date with death, we tried displaying no drama,
a surreal sham, as our mother declared her termination.
Shocked readers must think we should have done more.
Surely, she suffered from Alzheimer’s, or some sudden dementia.
Mother lucid, clearly contented in family, but resolute to her core.
Venerating her dignity compelled our deference to her enigma.
Inviting us around her final table, she said goodbye.
Her gesture of honesty to us intended to make it easier.
As she stripped us of family grounding, I did not know how to cry.
With everything in her death choreographed, I was an awkward actor.
Some of my siblings were quite confused
but seemed willing to take it in stride.
One, in particular, went off the rails, feeling quite abused.
Indeed, the cavity left in hungry hearts could never be denied.