Long Dissected Poems
Long Dissected Poems. Below are the most popular long Dissected by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dissected poems by poem length and keyword.
Tired of all the takers always finding myself surrounded by losers.
Wondering if there are any givers left in this fictional society
we have built ourselves?
Spending too much time reflecting on the limited sight of minds continuously immersed in dribble, gossip, humdrum activities, fanatical escapades, unnecessary violence, politics, reform, and ideology.
Minds that fail to consider the foundation and that everything in their worlds is based on someone else's idea of what should, or should not be.
Not realizing that society is a fantasy that has stagnated and is,
in essence, a fantasy world.
Not changing perspective to rise above the perceived
instead complaining about the mundane.
Yesterday's fiction is today's reality and tomorrow's history to be dissected, picked apart, rationalized and set aside with no real resolution,
answer or insight.
Maybe I am a fixer in need of fixing,
or maybe that's just your perception of me.
The dreaming self of mine, coagulate
to form an image purely supreme
to intermingle all my mellow thoughts
and create a thing above all.
The senses are most absorbing
and are getting each thing perfect
blending each thing to their mighty core
and carve a sculpture, fanciful.
A tomb in my heart is build
of my ceremonious antique vows
which were once my delight
but now alas time has decayed.
The sensitivity, the perseverance
spended in pain and in real vain
fled, had been each genial thought
and life decays with time.
Relished hardships too once
but o, life how unessential
i have become,to pine
at most deserving thought.
The visionary gleam of my heart
fading fast as scarce flowers
and the things which use to charm me otherwise
are now but quartz to me.
The delicate heart of mine
to marble has turned
contrasted equally as if hell to heaven
or heaven to hell has turned.
My deceiving beauty, my heart
Has cheated me throughout
And conjures me glance into visions
Which could never had been achieved.
But hope has restored and recreated
a heart which was fleeing fast
and occupies a narrow bridge
on which life swings.
Let not the light of hope fickle
and don't let the sap of mind be parched
admit no'ne in your heart, to flourish
but keep each feeling conserved and coiled.
Juxtaposed liberties are but necessities
and ruffian freedom, none but liability
the soul whose sail eternity drew
will place it nevertheless to the harbor of heaven.
AKASH SANGWAN
Sum of two, percolating hearts
Two forks merge, Love's current to kickstart
Love's seminal streams nutrients cart
Naively, through winding conduits dart
Each mind's eye the vital signs chart
Through coronary arteries; blithe goals, hopes jump-start
Strains increase blood pressure, tearing conjunctive cells apart
Gritty plaque dams; communication channels thwart
From heart's door, through silted veins, corroding dreams depart
Alter egos swell; each inflammatory argument a counterpart
A professional, therapeutic stent does bypass lane impart
Until acute thrombosis does stagnant minds compart
Divergent heart streams dissected on Love's flowchart
Protected under this banner
Protected under this roof
Protected by a vow of silence
Protected by the truth
Protected from the mayhem
Protected from the law
Protected from what our ears have heard
And from whatever our eyes saw
To some, I’m just an afterthought
By some, I’m pre-selected
Dumb, humble and weak —
I struggle to speak
It’s a good thing I’m protected
Now, protection ain’t no guarantee
From the hazards of the land
You can live in a place where you think you are free
Under laws you wouldn’t understand
And you don’t have to wear no uniform
You don’t have to fight any fight
O, thank the Lord you’re so protected and warm
All thru the stormy night
To some, it’s just an afterthought
By others, it’s dissected
Our leadership reigns
And they go to great to great pains
To ensure that we stay protected
So if I sound ungrateful
Or if I sound unsure
Or even if I’m hateful,
It’s no offense to you and yours
‘Cause everybody seeks protection
The tolling of safety’s bell
And we’d give up our lives to keep away from the knives
Even if it means the paradise of hell
To God, we may be an afterthought
(We sure are to those we’ve elected)
In our armored suits
And our futile pursuits,
We stand quasi-resolute
With T-shirts crying that we’re protected
I lean toward her~
this woman split into colors
a woman rendered in angles,
her face divided as if emotion
had been dissected
and pinned onto the canvas.
Her green fingernails startle me,
soft as bruised mint,
as though she once touched something tender
and the tenderness stained her.
She sits with that stillness
women learn too early~
the stillness of being looked at
instead of being seen.
Inside those mismatched eyes
I sense a private weather,
a quiet storm she never named.
She was a photographer
who could coax truth from shadows,
a surrealist who bent the world
until it revealed its hidden pulse.
Yet, here she is,
held in the gravity of Picasso’s gaze,
her own brilliance dimmed
to the outline of his muse.
And still~
there is something in her posture,
a hint of sorrow and a small, steady refusal.
As if beneath the fractured planes
she is gathering herself back,
piece by luminous piece,
her green nails glowing faintly
like the first signs of a woman
stepping out of someone else’s shadow
and into her own light.
you played me for a fool
used my feelings as the tool
to open my heart.
Once my heart was overflowing,
once my love was ever growing,
you showed me your true colors.
like a surgeon you took your time,
dissected every corner of my mind,
till I was lost in emotion.
my love was all a game to you,
but my feelings were true,
and now I'm paying the price
for falling so deeply in love with you.
they say what goes around
will eventually come around,
understand.
the unending pain I feel,
will soon be over and I'll heal.
understand.
but bad Karma will follow you
everywhere you go.
you played me for a fool,
used my feelings as the tool
to open my heart.
Deceiver.
That’s not poetry. This is poetry.
That cannot be poetry. It is not iambic pentameter.
That is a calamity; this is outstanding.
Out standing in an alley, behind a dumpster kind of writing.
We cannot agree for we do not have the same ideas.
And this is why poetry cannot be deciphered, understood or dissected
by anyone’s brain; it must be felt by your heart.
The poems I throw onto a page are my own feelings and thoughts.
Sometimes not clear to anyone but me,
other times they appeal to many.
I am compelled to write because I cannot fathom not writing.
I have a daily “quota” for myself,
not caring about anything but the number.
This means that some of my stuff is great, most of it is not so terrific,
And a few of the things I toss onto a poetry site are truly bad poetry.
My philosophy is this: Poetry is a numbers game.
Poetry contests are a numbers game.
Words and numbers holding hands, swinging hands, enjoying each other.
I laugh when I read some of the comments.
All of the tips I get on how to improve my poetry are from the newbies.
Newbies who have written less than three poems usually are full of tips.
I think this is hilarious.
It makes me laugh.
Everything about poetry for me is fun,
and so are tips from newbies.
That is my poetry philosophy for today.
And here is my only advice – go with your heart.
Some of the poems I read are so metaphoric I do not understand them with my mind.
However, my SOUL loves them, my heart adores them, and they give me joy.
Keep writing until the pink flamingos roost on your head.
The sculptor became jaded with prostitutes
the young ones were vacuous,
their bodies unleavened bread.
The mature subjects
scored by the violence of disappointment.
Both the naive and the world-weary
were dull molds.
The artist and anatomist, delved deeply into
the nature of form, he craved perfection.
a risen Venus, immaculate.
He dissected; plucked at visions.
On moonless nights
carried corpses on muffled barrow wheels.
By the light of a hundred candles,
he eased flesh apart,
nose swathed in verbena drenched rags,
hands tweaking, tracing tissue,
seeking once sensuous shapes
under sallow remains.
He worked with live models, hired women
of every class.
The rich were flattered, vain, the poor always
eager to earn.
None made the stone under his hands blossom.
It was a matter of timing, catching Venus
as she emerged from her littoral crest.
It seemed his models
were always coming to, or moving away
from that conjunction,
yet he kept opening mythical shells
until death took him.
At his funeral his straight-backed widow,
adorned in darkest weeds,
hid her anger well,
secretly despising those cold hands
that never did understand
the revelations of female imperfections.
No accident that the Bible has some of the greatest poetry every written -- for faith, God, cannot be expressed by mere means of clear, solid definition as a diamond of carbon in a laboratory chemically dissected and defined. God is known by cadence, synonym inspired, manifesting from the heart of imagination. Which is not to suggest, that God is not real, not truth -- it simply means, to my mind, that poetry is Love unconditional~ gateway, for literature's highest known form of expression. Far surpassing philosophy. A way of understanding and approaching our divinity both sense-fully and spiritually.
when I think about the goodness of God
and all He's done for me
I'm overwhelmed by the mercy, grace
and abundancy
He came into my life
He sifted
removed my bad behavior
He shook me to my very core
gave me Jesus as my Savior
He dissected and separated me
from all of my sins
He filtered my heart and shifted me
all over again
He came into my life
He sifted
removed my bad behavior
He shook me to my very core
gave me Jesus as my Savior
A paradigm shift occurred
my understanding was renewed
I now worship, witness and work
with a Holy Ghost point of view.
God came unto me and spiritually lifted.
I've been hoisted, hefted, elevated
and now godly gifted
He came into my life
He sifted
removed my bad behavior
shook me to my very core
gave me Jesus as my Savior
the Lord God came unto me
His presence made the change
He shifted my priorities
my whole outlook was rearranged
.
He came into my life
He sifted
removed my bad behavior
He shook me to my very core.
gave me Jesus as my Savior
A talent was bestowed to me
of such majesty
I now write about
His unconditional love
In verses of poetry
God came into my life
He sifted
removed my bad behavior
God shook me to my very core
gave me Jesus as my savior
I now walk, talk and write about
the things God's done for me
for I've been sifted, shifted and lifted
by the Holy Trinity