Long Ear Poems
Long Ear Poems. Below are the most popular long Ear by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ear poems by poem length and keyword.
N-either ear will turn deaf
O-ctober third sunny day;
R-ighteousness is revealed,
A-fter you plead and pray.
L-et neither ear turn deaf,
E-ven if lies do deceive;
E-agerly listen to the voice of truth that man must receive.
G-ive full attention to God
A-s He teaches His word;
R-emember the mandate
S-o you shall please the Lord.
O-pen your either ear,
L-eft or right before the Father;
A-llow it not to turn deaf for His wisdom is a reminder.
S-ay yes to God's instruction,
A-s you prick up your ears;
N-either of them will turn deaf,
T-rying to accept what each hears.
I-t's now time to hearken,
L-etting both ears heed;
L-isten to the one who speaks
A-ll the words that you need.
N-ever say no to the lesson you learn as you have left;
A-ccept the best counsel, neither ear will turn deaf.
The poem requires a mind
that finds meaning, even divination,
in language. Non-fiction,
up to academic standards, demands
evidence. Nothing less will do.
Most of us read fiction and this
needs a taste for action, motivation.
Lately, as have you, I have
thought about our war and its purpose,
motivation. But I have also closely
listened to the wood thrush, analyzed
its song like a tune by T.S. Monk
or J.S. Bach concerto. One belongs
to the loved ones who ostracize us, too.
A robin looks, hops, pecks, is never calm.
It is the flute-like tones, yes, but mostly
the patient, meditative clarity
of the thrush that enchants. One wants
to be that bird. How will we attain
calm clarity for the species *****sapiens?
Through the discipline of asking questions.
Mimics, woodpeckers, sing-songers, hawks,
chippers and trillers, whistlers, name-sayers,
loons, owls and a dove, high pitchers,
wood warblers and a word-warbling wren.
Unusual vocalizations.
What did the wood thrush sing
teaching its young thrush meanings?
Too much emotion is the commonest of mortals’ sins.
Peace has many faces,
the wood thrush in the canopy is one.
A word of praise here, an encouraging word there.
A wraith, a ghost against an impatient man,
verbose, unsure of the path, always longing.
Nothing satisfies like the thrush's song.
I hear in a whisper, in a whisper
In a still small voice;
I hear the wind in the trees;
A sparrow talking to me;
Singing
I HEAR THE COMFORT FROM THE SMALL VOICE IN MINE EAR-
I, yes I,
I am
Yes Oh yes I yes I am
I am the one who comforts you
I am the one whose true
My daughter, my son
Why? do you run
And why are you afraid
HEAR THE COMFORT FROM THE SMALL VOICE IN MINE EAR-
Don't go where man leads;
Do not follow the storm;
Never take tracks with someone whose on their back;
and never walk these roads alone
I hear in a whisper, in a whisper
In a still small voice;
I hear the wind in the trees;
A sparrow talking to me;
Singing
I, yes I,
I am
Yes Oh yes I yes I am
I am the one who comforts you
I am the one whose true
My daughter, my son
Why? do you run
And why are you afraid
HEAR THE COMFORT FROM THE SMALL VOICE IN MINE EAR-
Isaiah 51:12
2/24/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
my thoughts
are on hold..
up&down..
await
the pause
the chord..
then..
suspend
evoke
emotions
of
calm
reverie:
phrase by
phrase
on repeat
revolve
circles
intervals
pause
await..
an ethereal
image
to
appear
appear
appear
This poem 'happened' as I listened to Cage's Dream piano piece (7min )the words and patterned are as I listened.
here is a !ink to the piece which in reality is a part of my poem
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=9hVFCmK6GgM
A WHISPER IN DEVILS EAR
You have missed one, he’s over there
Now’s just the right time to approach
And a need for flattery, not reproach
You surely can clearly see his despair
Come on, it’s just another candidate
Sign him up, you have that contract
And even an old nibbed pen, in fact
So, before he leaves, do not hesitate
It must be at least the millionth time
Surely such prompting’s not required
Of course I realise even you get tired
But striking the deal feels so sublime
Your role is to make tempting offers
They will succumb, you know it well
Remember there is still room in Hell
And plenty of gold still in the coffers
Your numbers were down this year
You should know your job by now
We will reach your target somehow
By just a whisper in the Devil’s ear
plink, plink, water in the sink
sinks slowly into budding suds
torturing the pans and fork tines
who want cascade - show on the road
plink, plop, hands over ears, now stop
but slowly the spatter of drops
like the slow go of a rain storm
keep habitating, repeating
their ear-splitting, liver-bellied
bullying of the spoons and cups
the apron-covered giant turned
off the faucet, threw in the rag,
then the sponge, ew…her hands with gloves
now each piece, that is us, is scrubbed
and ah, true running water-rush
each of us towel dried, put ‘way
from nightmarish brutality
we rest…we rest..until lipstick
lands on the side of grinds in cup
and pan slams onto surface heat
in other words, we get beaten
then comes water in sink, awaken
the bully who sleeps eight hours
look forward to vacation, hers!
Whisper, whisper in my ear
Tell me what I want to hear.
Tell me that we’ll never part,
That you’ll never break my heart.
Hold me, hold me tight,
Hold me gently through the night.
When in anger when in years
Never ignore me or disappear;
Touch me with your loving hands,
Cradle me when fear commands.
Build me, build me a happy home
Filled with love and laughter;
Build me treasures that never rust,
Treasures built from loving trust.
Hide me, hide me in your love
Deeper than the sky above,
Closer than your beating heart
Together from the very start.
Talk with me, share your day
Let me help you along the way.
Be my staff, so to lean,
Be my friend with whom I dream.
Forever yours I will be,
More, than what I've asked of thee.
I've been collecting ear wax
Since the belly button lint dust fire went bad
I lost all my dignity in that fiasco
So ear wax is all that I have left
Believe you me, it's not easy
Coming up with another scheme
After burning the whole town down to the ground
To get a single soul to look or even listen to me
But that fateful day that I dug deep
And pulled a replica of the Eiffel Tower out of my ear
I knew that fame and fortune lay before me
My time had arrived, my time was here
Who should I call first over my artful discovery
The Post? The Enquirer? The Times?
No I would call The Museum Of Modern Art in NYC
For the Art World would soon be mine
I knew I had to ratchet it up a notch
One piece of ear wax art might be a fluke
So I got out my brush...the Q-tip
And removed a portrait of John Wayne AKA The Duke
Since I live in a hippie commune in the woods
Little furry creatures would always stop by
To gaze upon the artful process
Squirrels can be the best of critics...no lie!
Which gave me the idea with all the left over ear wax
I sculptured a mini-amusement park with mini-arcades
And charged the woodland creatures nuts and berries
Which helped feed the hippies with whom I stay
It wasn't long after that I received the letter
Stating that art had a need for me
I've become known as The Andy Warhol of The Art World
With abstract ear wax being my specialty
Now I go to all the major "Who Does"
Where everybody knows my name
As I create masterpieces right before their eyes
Just don't hold it to close to the flame
Who would have ever thought that ear wax
Would be the perfect medium
To jet propel this Simpleton
To Art World stardom and beyond
I hear myself talking to the radio;
the shock-jock stops pushing words
into my vehicle,
a pause, as if he is listening.
I don’t get paid for my opinions
my place is to be a listener, a non-combatant,
just ears and a vast echoing space between them.
The dead-air threatens to kill its audience.
The broadcaster voice gets louder as his mouth
moves closer to the microphone.
He knows! He heard my counter-arguments
and had no reply!
Then the radio signal is lost,
static nothing but blaring static,
I don’t turn the sound off
now the car has to listen only to me
as I carry on a heated conversation
inside my talking head.
Don’t judge me when you’re not near me,
I’m not someone you hear or see,
painting blind my portrait blurry,
projecting out lost and fury.
Did you tell others this is me,
this made up personality,
do they believe and think it be,
though it not reality.
It’s what’s been said,
and what all think,
don’t trace the thread
don’t doubt the link.
So is this my image, the way I’m seen,
this person that I’ve never been?
This reputation so easily hated,
am I a character someone created?
I don’t care cus you’re not near me,
you’re not someone I hear or see,
I won’t damage your name unfairly,
by letting fantasy carry me free.
In time they’ll see it truthfully
things you said a mystery,
question marks of my story
sparks of curiosity
look at you for logic and find they can’t see,
look at me properly and find the proper me.
He who talks the talk of reality,
talks of events an actuality,
Gossip talk near close to insanity,
fills an empty existence, a sad act to be.
Don’t judge me when you’re not near me,
in time a truth will be set free,
no one speaks, they see it clearly,
a very visual insanity.