Long Draw out Poems
Long Draw out Poems. Below are the most popular long Draw out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Draw out poems by poem length and keyword.
It's easy to set the goal, and even put the process in motion, but continuing to push forward through struggles and frustration can require a shove to help draw out that emotional leverage. ~ Leigh Wilson
Emotional happiness is a goal everyone would like to reach
but attaining that destination is not something anyone can teach.
The use of leverage is a viable solution to ignite the flames of fire,
ones to use as sparks to light the way to have the life we desire
There are several emotional concepts that I label after reflection
that can motivate us and others to live life without objection
Pride is usually thought of as a trait for which we shouldn't strive
but it can also prove to be a useful tool that can keep hope alive
for it can take a look at goals that were achieved or things done right.
A point worth making; it opens a window giving slivers of foresight
Joy is an emotion everyone feels when a goal is accomplished
Any lever can be used to amplify an advantage that can be wished
Something as simple as talking with others can make joy a reality
It's a resource to change a behavior or attitude; not a hyperbole
Hope allows us to have expectations of a life that we find fulfilling
But life often pushes back with frustrations that could use distilling
That's when we pivot, as a lever to make struggles less intimidating
By facing problems head on, seeking solutions, instead of placating
The fear factor dwells inside everyone when feeling uncertainty
or an immediate threat, but it can be levered with a bit of diversity,
a change in some areas of our lives where we experience less stress
The more advantages we can obtain, we'll feel threats much less
Anger is perhaps the biggest obstacle to having emotional well-being
but used as a leverage, it can be used as a key that allows the freeing
from threats that we experience, disrupting our sense of independency,
enabling us to feel self-compassion and toward others with clemency
Then there is the prospect of shame, used to encourage and persuade
ourselves and others to avoid an action or a decision, wrongly made
when we, or others might find out about a socially undesirable action.
Leveraging devices give gentle shoves that lead to emotional satisfaction.
Rob Brezsny reports
In 2004, San Rafael hosted a World Conference of Soul-Making
resulting in three schools for best PeaceMaking practices,
to which I will add one
more democratically inclusive,
less autonomously exclusive.
"The Ruminators
theorized that humans are born without [divine] souls
and can create them only through arduous,
disciplined rebellion against all [trauma-informed] belief systems.
The Resonators
agreed that soul [peace] isn't innate,
but insisted that soul-making is by no means difficult
...gathering good [health-humor] stories is effective [necessary]
and not at all hard [resiliently sufficient].
The Revelators
said every [individual] person is born with a [peace-full monotheistic] soul
in seed form,
and need only discover the [organic] 'blueprint'
of that [individual] seed
in order to attract the [anthropocentric] experiences
necessary to draw out its [integrity's] potential."
Regenerators
win/win hypothetically agree with all of the above,
born with a potential integrating peace seed,
we struggle with systemic traumas
win v lose dualistic pathological dramas
painfully dissociative
devolutionary ruminations
yet also
celebrate our greatest Gaian Synergy Story
of inter-religiously ecological
cooperative revolutionary culminations
resonantly anticipating
health-climaxing wealth
of panentheistic pronoia.
Re-ligiously con-scientious peace-making
within universally engaged
neurosystemic unitarian mindbody
and
compassionately pleased
ecosystemic bodymind
Re-membering roundly resonant Gaia's
mystical polyamorous vulnerability
historical pronoia transparency
anticipating interdependent EarthTribe's
soul-communing peace communications.
Once again, adding a culminating four-fractal fold
to three interdependent dimensions
closes a four-season healthy
regeneratively wealthy
peace-development story
Inviting our polyculturally expectant revisit
for yet more win/win synergetic soul food
Re-ligiously feeding spiritual Resonator minds of
con-scientiously breeding natural Revelator bodies for
re-viving more sacredly compassionate Ruminators singing
organically co-pleasuring ReGenerators dancing
to soul-full musing EarthPeace.
T'was not easy for my lord.
Walking on that road to Golgotha.
Heaving the cross, while trudging up that hill of Calvary.
Enduring taunts and invectives from the people He was going to save.
Bitting down the pain of the scourge already inflicted on Him.
For Roman whips were laced with jagged glass pieces meant to draw out flesh when administered on any one.
It was not easy my friends.
But it was worth it.
For we are now saved due to that sacrifice.
Redeemed from the kingdom and paths of death,
Translated into the Kingdom of life and everlasting joy.
We have a comforter because of that sacrifice.
The Holy spirit who quickens our mortal bodies unto righteousness
And is always there to lift our spirits when we are down.
For we must pass through the valley of the shadow of death.
A journey needed to strengthen our faith and sweeten the testimony.
We have a key because of His sacrifice.
For His death washed off our filthy rags and made us Holy.
Holiness which gives us unrestricted entrance into the presence of God the Father of light.
It was not easy.
But it was worth it.
These words, He speaks to His church today.
For He has seen the tripled allure of sin.
And the increased efforts, the world is currently making, to redefine holiness and truth.
Stand firm my beloved.
The world will persecute you for your faith.
Your so called 'church' may even denounce you for your staunch beliefs in the excellency of my word.
Stand firm my beloved.
Against the onslaught of the media like the children of Israel in their grumble against Moses.
Keep standing.
Against the onslaught of friends like Jobs friends.
Keep standing.
Against the onslaught of detractors like Tobiah, Sanballat and Geshem.
Keep standing.
Against the onslaught of the constituted authority, like king Ahab against Prophet Elijah.
Keep standing.
Against the onslaught of your very beloved wife, like Job's.
Keep standing.
#Bashorun
Check out more of these articles at okontas.blogspot.com
I won't ask one question,
just stab my pen in
and draw out the ink,
nothing will stop my flow
with crimson words
and chunky verses.
The night is dark
and streaked with grey.
Mist swirls around my ankles
like a lovers caress.
The moon is up there
but hidden
a true hunter's nite.
I walk my lands
enjoying the stillness,
ignoring the living,
they're just here to distract,
not worth my time.
Fog rolls in
like sheets of sheer fabric,
excluding me,
cuddling me.
I can feel the moisture
building up
on my skin,
slicking down my body hair,
smearing the blood
coating me.
It's trying to cleanse me
but it won't,
can't allow it,
I'm enjoying this too much.
This is just my brake
from the hunt,
a day to let myself
grow hollow.
I see a silhouette
of my castle up on the cliff
The grounds below me
are finally springing back.
My gnarled trees
flourishing,
the bushes are flowered
and spiky,
still a bit drab
but that's how i like it.
Licking the platelets
from my fingers
I keep moving
(just like my quill)
gliding across my parchment
filling in the blanks
with silence
too loud to hear,
too quiet to resist,
ripping into the foundation
hard enough to stop civilization,
making them wait
for what I have to say.
Ash falls before my eyes
as the masses wait,
they don't realize
I have nothing to say,
I'm just here to stir the cauldron
get the juices boiling.
Havoc is my creation,
my spawn,
my lover,
the taste that sits in the back
of my mouth.
Can you hear me
screaming in the back
of your head,
saying the things
you dare not think about
and leaving that
metallic taste
in your mouth
as your lip bleeds.
I write. I feel. I translate. I create.
Any writers dream is to breathe life into their abstract of imagination
as is any artistic creator.
To give birth to a painting, or to capture that moment in infinite majesty.
To recreate feelings of all kind, throughout lyrics and hymns.
To give to of a creation of all kinds for all kind.
These expressions. These collaborations. These leaks from creativity.
Dawn was a long time ago that even our ancestors painted on walls.
We observe in fascination, shared ingenuity from eon's lost.
Yet as our children write, the tail spurns on,
Becoming endless dull twine, study yet bland.
Recreate that fathomless spark, children of children.
Recreate us, capture your own moment yet.
We write. We feel. We translate. We create. You carry on.
Pass down our tattered wreaths,
Weave a new song with our rekindled lace of your own nights.
Dance around one another, raise a flag, sing a song.
Touch a place of no return, enclose it with love.
Pass on our knowledge of our minds onto ageless stone.
Pass on even our stupidity, learn from our tales of misguidance.
Lay out foundation upon our syllables.
Play with verbs and new pronunciations as you mix paints.
Diverse amongst yourselves, go on for more.
Find strife as to stride for peace.
Do not abate one another on simple matters such as belief.
Draw out your own life, be in harmony as a mosaic of colors.
Unique and different, give out your wisdom's.
Then fall, become as us, dull silk.
Give yourself to brink, as so your children strife.
When they look upon you and cry in anger tell of us.
Our stupid advice.
So they can achieve greater than you through their children.
More so than us.
Sing of this day, sing any moment.
You should, shall not be bound by others.
Paint in mind of further on.
Let me be the ancestor of those who forsake this poem.
Stop strife and stride forever.
Let them achieve dreams of dreams.
Through word and solace, song and chaos.
Let them fly away, and never stop.
Run away,
Don't look back.
Touch all the diamonds above.
Thankfully wife as helpmate available,
when yours truly feels unswell
her tender loving care can spell
relief afflicted which she can hopefully quell
but spouse of mine, he doth not aim to oversell
nevertheless counterpart valued
as once me Matty Mattel
prized boyhood toy unfailingly and unstintingly
reflected, mirrored and kickstarted mood to kvell
and encapsulate impossible mission,
thus now grown lad with sincerity does impel
to communicate how thoughts gel
regarding how the missus tries to expel
his physical displeasure
while sequestered within B44 prison cell
as dark shadows creep along the edge of night
surreal as ghosts made manifest
courtesy fratricidal brothers Cain and Abel.
The charming primary physician
at Patients Matter Always (Doctor York Yang)
prescribed Amoxicillin 500 MG Capsules
one capsule three times a day.
Two days since visit with
aforementioned medical practitioner I went
and thus far, no reduction
to swallow without great strain,
hence crafting reasonable rhyme I vent,
which lame endeavor
marginally alleviates torment
rendering swallowing painful
despite depending
on above pharmacological medicine
synthesized courtesy countless
top notch star students
upon landing dream job
able, ready and willing to pay rent
at pricey residences
with regal names such as Kent
Village Apartments, Kent Place Residences,
versus drab Highland Manor
which costs me one hundred ninety red cent
every month, no doubt a bargain
yet absent amenities
most every tenant here would assent.
Although prone to experiencing chills
still slight drawback extra frills
case in point on site medic clinic
would be grand for folks
long in the tooth
regarding being old, yet over the hills
and far away Teletubbies come to play
attempting to draw out child within
once garden variety Jacks and Jills
unfortunately many youngster
plucked by steel mills
decades later in their dotage
heavily rely on magic potions and pills
to facilitate basic ambulatory skills.
"...a band beyond description,
like Jehovah's favorite choir."
Though I'm only old enough to be
Some hippie's kid brother
I've been to hear the music play the band
Times more than a few.
I liked the carnival atmosphere,
Smokeladen from passage of pipes,
Filling the thrumming concert sites
Wherever they appeared,
Everyone dance-happy, everybody friends
When Jerry's Kids and their kids
Got together for awhile.
I remember one of the last times,
A summer's night breezily warm,
The day shedding its bright heat
Drawing slowly down in orange light, purple clouds
While a multicolored audience drew itself together
As a living kaleidoscope for initiate eyes.
I watched one buxom girl,
Clad solely in a blue cotton dress
Wrapped like a mist around her,
Dancing trippingly 'round and 'round through the crowd,
Spinning and hopping,
Lovely as some windblown flower.
They played their usual four-hour set,
One song melting into another
Weaving melodic tapestries
Waxing better the more they went on,
'Til old Bobby Weir got to screaming out
For sheer joy.
Well, I say you can keep your Metal Boys,
Your screeching Fly-By-Nighters,
Deride if you will such nostalgic things.
These gents survived to play their hearts out
From the Summer of Love to the Spring of c.d.s,,
From tiedye n' jeans to Music Video
- Yet still, head-to-head, they could bury
The best the newbies could hope to show;
Could play 'em right into the ground.
Myself, I find it hard to see
What was so funny about a generation dedicating itself to love.
Give me a band like this any day,
Who can draw out well-tailored bankers
To pass and puff,
Fire up forty-year-old mothers-of-five
To dance in place for two hours, enthralled -
Yes, I'm grateful for the Dead, my friends.
They'll always be all right by me.
Imagine there is a bank that credits
Your account each morning with $86,400.00
It cares over no balance from day to day
Every evening it deletes whatever part
Of the balance you failed to use during the day
What would you do?
Draw out every cent, of course!
Each of us has such a bank
It's name is TIME
Every morning it credits you
With 86,400 seconds
Every night it writes off,
As lost, whatever of this
You have failed to invest to good purposes.
It carries over no balance
It allows no overdrafts
Each day it opens a new account for you
At night it burns the remains of the day
If you fail to use the day's deposits,
All that is lost is yours.
There is no going back
Plus there is no drawing against "tomorrow".
You must live in the present
On today's deposits
Invest it so as to get from it
The utmost health, happiness, and success!
The clock is running
Make the most of today
To realize the vaule of One Year
Ask a student who failed a grade
To realize the vaule of One Month
Ask a mother who gave birth
To a pre-mature baby
To realize the vaule of One Week
Ask the editor of a weekly newspaper
To realize the vaule of One Day
Ask a daily wage laborer
With kids to feed.
To realize the vaule of One Hour
Ask the lovers who are waiting to meet
To realize the vaule of One Minute
Ask a person who missed the train
To realize the vaule of One Second
Ask a person who just avoided an accident
To relaize the vaule of One Millisecond
Ask the person who won
A sliver medal in the Olympics
Treasure every moment that you have
And treasure it more
Because you was able to share it
With someone special
Special enough to spend your time.
And remember that time waits for no one
Yesterday is history
Tomorrow is a mystery
Today is a gift
That's why it is called the present!
Form:
Slipping into my silver-gray SUV
Nicknamed " Sly Buster Cruiser”
I speed off down the rocky, off-highway road.
Twisting and reeling like my wired mind,
windows down, sunroof open,
(Annie Lennox groveling on the CD player),
reckless noon rays on my chin,
wind on ticklish, naked nape ...
Damn, who cares? I am 19 again?
Shuffling into the 7-Eleven Store
beside the Shell gas station
(With a free wind shield clean-up),
I draw out some bucks for a Philip Morris pack
and a two bottles of beer, plus a Dorito
( the barbecue flavor , please)…
Ain’t a drinker; a smoker on occasion,
but I feel like being reckless and
slightly rebellious ;
I lock the door prepping up for an untamed ride.
Grabbing a spray of cologne mist
and red-violet lipstick from the tote,
my irises roll from the lane to the side mirror,
as I slowly dunk the beer, icy and bubbly
zooming away with hands laughing on the wheels.
Nobody knows me in this place; my ribs shout silently:
This is just all for me; just now, I’ll be.
This is just between me and the edge of a free road.
This is about my navel breathing fire and ice,
It’s about touching danger fast without reason or fuzz
Because later, all this smooth craziness will soon pass.
Back to the same home trail, I rip the cigarette sticks,
slide the unused bottle in my bag
before wiping the red on lips with the Dorito foil…
“ Mommy, Mommy… where have you been?”
I smile as if my skin had chased a tornado…
Dumping the beer on the back porch,
My hand is cleansed by some kind of holy water,
And I start to hug my mischievous girl...
Then off I start to roll the plates on the sinking sink.
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Celebrating My Faves Contest
For Andrea Dietrich--Faved by Sponsor
Reposted 4/24/2016
As the days draw out I spy a human-heron trying his patience and mine,
trying to persuade the wind by genuflecting before it on this sunny quite
late afternoon to lift this bird-man to be converted between the rugby posts
to get two points for the union code as if it a ritual or a qualification for this
bi-cameral being to float over this fen on the edge of their and our England.
A whisper of cloud is the only object to adorn or besmirch the winter blue
sky as it cops out of converting between the post, teases the reddish tall
trees and salutes the sunset on a horizon that it is said by foreigners from
elsewhere in England go mad as though adrift in a a of land that mimics
the North Sea horizon as two streaks of sunlight cross behind them in
warning at this creatures presumption as the human-heron stretches his
wide wings and lands in the inimitable determined and ungainly manner.
The next few days are not my mobile's as we are being celled by dirty
gloomy, cloudy, cold, snow flaked weather; weather that in Britain only
exists so that family, friends, neighbours, and strangers from near and
far can have something not too controversial to talk, moan about, and to
indulge in that pleasant pastime of agreeing that if the weather is good
to the human-heron and us we will have to pay for it even if it is only the
wrong choice wearing clothes over our human or human- heron selves.