Long Edits Poems
Long Edits Poems. Below are the most popular long Edits by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Edits poems by poem length and keyword.
Books to the library
photos to family.
Paint cans and lumber
from renovations years ago.
Most of the furniture
including the piano.
Fastest way to do this
is rent a dumpster.
On the internet
nothing’s permanent,
nothing's gonna happen.
Photosynthesis, evaporation
as if your spirit disappears
when the sun appears.
It’s a burden lifted
not to have to persevere.
Edits
for clarity
and brevity.
One owes the reader
a respite from
the tonnage of
fructifying English.
To drown one’s book is devoutly to be wished.
Coupla trumpets,
big comfy couch,
four beds and dressers
and the contents of closets.
Tools we don’t use,
surge protectors and chargers,
lawn and patio accoutrements,
table settings for ten.
Lamplit underground,
the stray branch,
synchronized chaos,
a red fez.
One canary,
map of Antarctica,
three deaf little otoliths,
six or seven sybils.
Extra salt and pepper shakers,
sharpies and crayons,
a printer and a scanner,
the Bible and Koran.
Kaput calculators and computers,
subscriptions and prescriptions,
a host of vitamins
and the ghosts of ancestors.
Time itself
but not nature.
Wealth
and most of culture
but not my health.
That I’ll keep,
and sleep—practice
for perfect rest.
I've just been to Africa.
Our trip was a rush job.
In a hazardous and chaotic cosmos,
it's another world. Entirely.
If you go to another planet,
don't plan on staying long,
they're slippery and dangerous.
I'm back now—to my weird little life,
where I’ve always been netted and safe—
in classes—swaddled in color-coded calendars.
I like books - book books, paper books.
There's something memorable to durable goods,
the physical, a hex to text you can touch.
School requires a quiet disappearance.
All at once but nothing dramatic,
just small, measurable units
moment by moment edits.
A pleasure removed here or postponed there,
things renamed “inefficient” mostly.
One can lose oneself in self-improvement.
As you get better at academic measurables,
everything else suffers.
You can streamline your personality,
to disengage with distractions—
no matter how cute they are.
.
.
Songs for this:
TiK ToK by Kesha
2 days into college by Aimee Carty
It is neat to gaze upon a star;
light shows the way -- God's route.
Adventuring near, adventuring far
affirming persons who doubt.
Light shows the way -- God's route.
My story is that light can infuse each rift
affirming persons who doubt,
forgetting malice which love will lift.
My story is that light can infuse each rift
forgiving faults with peace and joy
forgetting malice which love will lift.
Givers are more blessed than getters, Ahoy!
Forgiving faults with peace and joy
adventuring near, adventuring far.
Givers are more blessed than getters, Ahoy!
It is neat to gaze upon a star.
January 12, 2020, revised Jan. 30, 2020
Major edits since the contest was judged.
Always striving to improve.
War, it isn’t what it used to be
it never was.
Memories are not preserved by history
merely edited, distorted, diminished.
War, it isn’t what they wish it to be.
Intimidation edits objections, distorts reality and illusion
and diminishes objectivity
the way a lion edits a herd of gazelle
the way a flawed mirror distorts reflection
the way baldness diminishes hair.
The effect becomes the cause.
Lives become resources that are squandered and depleted
to attain the higher good
of a privileged few.
Gallant and heroic efforts are recorded in books
a self-ingratiating pandering to the resources,
the way large game animal heads are mounted
and displayed high on the wall of an exclusive club.
Nations and cultures are liberated from their resources
and their liberty.
War is true in the sense that it creates facts.
This magnificent computer
which resides within our head
How amazingly it reacts
to information that it's fed
No matter what age
we have achieved
New neurones will develop
if practice is conceived
It's said that we only utilise
ten percent of brain capacity
I am aiming to achieve much more than that
forever in pursuit of sagacity
Here are two examples my own I do present
nine months ago began writing poems many edits then were needed
With constant practice a deficiency of skill is superseded
Can now sit for half an hour
a poem will be spawned
Mostly now no editing original poetic thoughts
on paper they have formed
Began these online poetic presentations just four months ago
two finger typing very slow has now increased speed by tenfold
Not sufficient skills there yet to type if I was shackled to a blindfold
What is now an exciting discovery, handwriting
with lead pencil improves brain connectivity
My pencil's always sharpened
like my brain and there's improved receptivity
Listen to music also magic for the brain in 432 hertz frequency
but to play a musical instrument that's even better
Connects left/right brain hemispheres
Don't ever give up! Many neurones there to unfetter
This…change in me
This…selfish need, this greed
Where does it come from?
It’s not from above or below,
It’s earthy, eccentric…alien to me,
And yet it is me!
It is wholly me! Why?
Why has my mind brushed upon this…phase?
Or is it really a phase?
Is this really me now?
I don’t want to transform into something I hate…
I want to transform into something I can… procreate
I want to bedazzle you, and them, and he, and she, and….it,
But my desires are all for nothing
My goals are rotting
I am this… other person now
I’ve changed
I’m not caring anymore
No, not like I used to
But maybe in a way… I’ve began to……
I’ve began to break…
Because it feels good,
To just, allow yourself to fall away,
For a moment—to feel something…
Even if it isn’t genuine, even if it isn’t whole, even if it isn’t right
Is it not me?
Is it not human?
These words they…flow out of me,
And… they are truly what I feel at this present moment
But what will I feel in a day’s time,
In a few years?
I want my eyes to be open again,
My soul to be open,
My dreams to be free
I want them to translate into healing poetry
I want them to translate into the true me
Help me find me…
Yes, I would love that…
If you would help me find me…
***** this poem, "Me" was composed a little differently than my usual ones. I spoke the words out loud, using a recorder. I was never very good with verbal communication, speaking on the spot. I would like to improve on this, experiment a little on improv…I have written down exactly what I have spoken, with no edits, with the intention of creating a coherent poem. I might do a few of these again. Always, Laura
Wonder's Mother, Misery
Digging up the philosophical topic:
Disputing bliss as the ultimate state.
Argues that striving for worthy causes
is crucial to satisfaction.
Told as a narrative:
I settle for serenity before empathy emerges.
Fortune arrives! Freedom's apostle forsakes anguish
Gifted infinite Bliss, my solace destined deservedly
Stream of clarity meanders a universal language
Friction's absence nestles purity imperviously
Embalmed in Calm's acclaimed lake, swan flossed
Rythemical ripples push potent satisfaction
Praises recited by besotted Constancy credulous
echo honey hive hums of hexagonal exaction
Departing debaucherous City vividly abhorred
Putrid brutality writhes with tired rivalries
Beanstalk brings salvation, stem thrust forward
Garnered ease guarantees Eden's glories
Possessive Bliss demands spellbound devotion
Heaven threatened if Bliss discerns disloyalty
Clouds combine to combat empathy's erosion
Chastise my facile option of blind buoyancy
Fog's fugitives scowl at my serenity tenuous
Big top brandishing condemns complacency
Stampede creatures wet sterile to spectacle
Aloof cautions, storm's rampage prophesied
Thunder's scorn in boisterous cloud growls,
" Are your horizons devoid of curiousity?"
Lightning despises consolation Bliss allows
" Ventures usher insight, mishaps carve tenacity. "
My plaintive protest, " Bliss gives reality reprieve."
Vehement gust howls, " Glassy serenity smothers"
Truth edits template, discards denial' s dry leaves
" Necessary Misery is Wonder's Mother."
"Wonder's discoveries honour researchers who develop them
Trials and triumph craft tapestry immaculately woven
Showcased esteem denies distinction endless spectrum
Taunting tranquility extends pledges inevitably broken."
Narcotic Bliss persuades with privilege of inaction
Compassion scaffolds resilience duly collected
Pragmatic rain alerts to a pertinent maxim
Intrigue's face created by Misery's descendant
July 2020
Biochemistry—the chemistry of life’s design,
Where molecules dance, interlink, and align,
A bridge between cells, atoms, and earth,
Defining each process, from death to birth.
From cells to tissues, to systems whole,
Biochemistry reveals life’s molecular role.
Atoms join with bonds of varied might—
Covalent, ionic, in complex rite.
Molecular structures, their shapes decide,
How functions emerge and systems collide.
Water, polar and bound by bonds unseen,
Becomes life’s solvent and essential scene.
Carbohydrates fuel, in branching chains,
While proteins give shape, structure, and gains.
Lipids form membranes, barriers and walls,
And nucleic acids hold life's codes, small but tall.
Each plays its part, in pathways intertwined,
The building blocks of life, so meticulously designed.
Catabolism breaks, releasing life’s spark,
Anabolism builds, leaving nature's mark.
Glycolysis starts, the fuel we ignite,
The citric cycle follows, energy in sight.
ATP fuels the cells’ endless demands,
In bioenergetic chains, life expands.
The enzymes, catalysts that spark each course,
Signal transductions, relay with molecular force.
Channels open, gates control flow,
Compartmented spaces, with roles to show.
Each process precise, a well-ordered dance,
In the cell’s intricate, coordinated trance.
DNA spirals, a double helix of code,
Blueprints of life in sequences bestowed,
Transcription to RNA, a message to read,
Translation to proteins, each cell’s vital creed.
Genes regulated, expressions controlled,
A symphony of life meticulously told.
With spectrums and gels, we separate, define,
Electrophoresis’ bands, chromatogram’s line,
PCR amplifies genes to explore,
CRISPR edits, opens new doors.
These tools unearth life’s secrets concealed,
In every lab, mysteries revealed.
From medicine’s cures to agricultural yields,
Biochemistry stretches across modern fields.
Personalized treatments, precision designed,
Green tech and ethics, the future aligned.
At life’s smallest scale, in molecules profound,
The promise of science and progress is found.
"The Book According to St Lovejoy 1:3 (Part 1)"
1. 3’s the Number so here we’ll commence
I’ll start moving while the non-believers
sit on their fence
A very little known Chapter, part of a
most significant Book
all the stories are written with 3 in mind
Locked in a cupboard
that’s gone missing
the big split in the spine
indicates it’s unique in it’s position
lost in fractured time
with stories spilling out between the many pages
hidden under a stockpile of
thick dust somewhere
won’t be missed in antiquity, nowhere
but has travelled so far
through canals its words cerebral
all swimming down a tight viscous
river of blood tar
out to that Sea, the Ocean
Life
perpetuating life another chapter arrives
into the world screaming,
it breathes
in this Book there are always 3
for reading, not pleasure, somehow the
chapters have all gone missing from
the Family Tree.
2. Another Peter became Simon
fished the Sea for his mother
he had a story in his chapters
that required slow
then swift delivery defied
the story of bittersweet childhood all
bottled up with a note, he threw into her ocean
but she’d already stepped onto the boat
down the Styx River
to meet God the Father,
Son and Holy Ghost.
Or so she thought.
Two fathers missing, two mothers host
but 3 is the number that will impresses
us the most
An unread story,
stolen delivery the Peter-Simon Creed
Nicene said before sleep to transport him away,
the other the piano self-taught
played his own keys
sang all the pain away
both abused not believed
seekers of retribution
now lost off course by several degrees
drowning in misery
one was down on his knees
LUX VITAE he said, this is my shield
he walks through the Light,
the Light is his Guide you see
the other looks for release
past his muster time, walks round and round
the sharp corners of his mind,
a small locked room
lying there supine
next to the sea,
he edits his story vigorously
before he signs his contract
by Her Majesty’s Final Decree.
(Lovejoy-Burton/2017 Dec)
The The - "Soul Mining"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IkzwnBqjRYg
The gods are online today,
Updating their laws like software patches,
Fixing glitches in heaven while we glitch on earth,
Typing commandments no one reads,
Uploading sermons no one feels.
They scroll through prayers like spam emails,
Ignore the bleeding body in the dirt,
Reward the loudest liars,
And punish the quiet truth.
In their group chats,
They laugh at those like me —
Broken ribs, broken voice, broken trust —
Another ticket closed,
Another sinner "served."
The village bows to their screens,
Worships the edits, fears the updates,
And I,
I am just a bug in their system,
Flagged for deletion because I dared defend myself.
My innocence is offline,
My pain is offline,
Only the image matters here:
The curated guilt,
The viral shame.
The gods are online —
But none of them are listening.