Long Electricity Poems
Long Electricity Poems. Below are the most popular long Electricity by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Electricity poems by poem length and keyword.
ENOUGH!
I felt deaf from the ‘noise’ of information,
constantly butting, buzzing against my mantra of:
“The quieter you are… the more you… hear!”
At present, my lifestyle felt media manipulated:
tv, radio, newspaper, mobile, computer.. ad infinitum!
Besieged by endless emails, monopolizing mobiles,
beset by frenzied yaps from apps!
Enough is enough is….. ENOUGH,
I have to escape from the unrelenting hullabaloo.
Can the human brain endure so much information
and who am I, an individual thinker or group dancer?
However, relief sat just around the corner
as next morning I boarded the flight to Reykjavik.
A three-hour taxi journey with a taciturn islander,
people and communication diminishing by the mile
until finally a twig of a boat out to Ellidaey Island.
Boating and bobbing towards the uninhabited …hideaway,
an isolated jigsaw piece of land
off the southern coast of Iceland,
I appraise a small-boned building clinging to its side
with ‘RIDICULOUS’ scribbled all over it.
Someone had said Iceland was a niceland
where you could float free, peace and tranquillity!
But someone hadn’t warned me about…Mr Loneliness
Who was soon tapping me sharply on the shoulder.
So here I sit, three days into my week’s stay
in the island’s lodge, dubbed the world’s loneliest house,
where the only neighbours are passing ships and puffing puffins.
No internet, no tv, no electricity, no running nor strolling.. water
just remote, alone and contemplating my countenance
while wondering if God is lonely too!
Suddenly, clouds bump and bruise against each other
as they race away before the darkness snarls in.
Soon, night has sent in its stormtroopers
who land and splinter into shadow groups
while wind angrily sprints up to the house
bombing it with blockbuster punches.
Then rain happily joins in, machine-gunning the house
until the building begins to stagger and stumble.
I check my face and it is still in the same place
but I sit timorously trembling, tyrannised and terrified
while my eyes follow the house’s dimly lit path
as it wags its tail to the cliff’s edge
and jumps into the void of darkness.
But this poem is a broken wrist, with a twist,
as suddenly, my bones brittle and inside myself…..I faint!
What possibly could happen now?
But there it is..
the knock at the front door!
Ian Souter
.
A whale in a pail is far more active in a gale or in copious amounts of hail. Putting money into sharks is a shifty act involving the shuffling of coats in cloakrooms. And clown costumes placed in the bowls of women's frames are reserved for the elite attire of lemmon lipped bowler heads whose acidic tongue holds the weaponry speeches of tomorrows gore. Pain is a painted potato placed with the pilots to place on a place numbered out and planned on maps arriving by facetious fax machines whose many layered buttons seek to halt a single growing grass level with a shard spoken key. Turning a keyboard to an angle one can visit the highest climate but coinage is best reserved for a large bull with a blue tie. Behind many layers. Many layers is not many lettuces it is merely many lanes. And lanes are lovely on a summer evening returning from the abbey to the house in eighteen fifty-three in long beautiful blue dress with fancy earrings and hair wound in a tight bun. Looking around it is unsurprising that history repeats in the timeless whorl akin to stirring an acre pan of stew or making sandwiches for two hundred people at a picnic. Societal swamps seek some swanky shuffle starting storms. And all the while the little pixies dance in the trees. The unicorns prance, the fairies fly round and round, and all other realmes folk sigh at the endless processions of humans making endless chain of woe. Cause no pattern to rise up from a paper print. For if you do your whole world and house will be prints causing visitors to arrive in many windows to create a karmic reaction and a reaction is a realism and a responsive reach but not a retch. Little frog hums in the kitchen cupboard. He is very bored today and would like to go visit the pond but the machinery placed there ensures it is not safe to hop and when hopping it often is the case that shots are fired from the artillery of the ant people in plastic helmets. They move akin to a swarm of kettledrums on a backlit of carbonised baking trays. Powder that then. Beetroot faced woman in that raspberry printed dress. And to encourage the wrath of a walnut is to embellish a multicolumn of static electricity. Wow. Mish mash mush then. Hahahaha the dancing in the bathroom door hahaha mixed-use mixers mingling mangy mincemeat. Xxxxxxx prese tart structure Paden tar xxxxxxx invertebrates z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z THAT;
Form:
GROWING UP THE PAST RUNS DEEP
Growing up in the village..
days before electricity arrived
when i used a kerosin lamp..
as i browsed through volumes..
volumes of literature..
Till my eyes would turn dry..
and i would feel dizzy...
for not changing my reading poster
screaming nerves accussing mi..
i stood accussed of abuse
by my own senses..
Sweet sleep would fall over me..
the novel dropping..
from mines limb hands
dreaming of strange lands..
Oh the joy of addiction..
i was hooked to good stories
Evading peers to catch up
on a book.. didnt i love escapism
negleting schoo work... now thts dumb..
negleting sports and exercises wasnt i hooked
the past is deep i spent a lot of time..
reading make believe stories
Moving to the east coast town..
after finishing forth...
i fell in love with movies
and became an enemy of the books
a great movie i watched..
robbed of my immagination
Rushing over meals
running to catch a new movie
my brother michael...
sneezing allrgies of the polluted cities..
i was missing village life..
Strange swahili culture..
christian, muslims, arabs africans
strange foreigners,, i have this-
against them most of them didnt seem
to love clothes.. yet the others
covered to their eyes..
Mwadhini calling the faithful to prayer
christians holding week long crusades..
here the battle was for souls
or was it the offerings
strange swahili culture..
drinking strange palm wine..
such was the life at the coast
New friends trying to revert me to islam..
elders remmindim me not to forfeit..
the wisdom of our people..
borrowed clothes dont fit well..
and customs and traditions..
are the mirror of society..
No where were my beliefs challenged more..
they called me almukafirun...
i retaliated youre a zailim..
didnt we love the enlightening debate
softening of stands..
proponent and opponent reached common ground...
The bond of friendship and culture
breakin down- them
cultural religios barriers
friends and gal friends from all religions
people at the coast are very freindly
and salaams greetings a way of life..
Stories of jinn and black majic
we knew not to give much-
credence.. there of the disbelivers
we believed in the onness of the supreme..
debated on tenacles of faith..
for the bond of love runs deep
and the past is deep..
by lewis k nyaga
Have you ever felt such a silken mist? A shower of rain that can cleanse the soul? Have you ever reached up to touch God on the face and He converted your heart instantly? Have you ever wondered what heaven was all about and was drawn to it more than ever now? Showers of love pour out from the heart of our Creator.
The Latter Rain is a supernatural rain. It is the outpouring of the love of God. The Latter Rain is a mist of affection, a last minute call upon the hearts of His divine creation. Yes, this rain shower, this shower of his affection, is just for you. It was planned this way since the beginning of time, and here we are standing side by side soaking up the wondrous presence of God. He is all around us as He blankets us with His mighty love.
Have you ever wanted to tell someone how much you love them and yet you couldn't find the words to speak? You always became tongue-tied over praying with others, but somehow your prayers come more easily? This is the outpouring of the mist of the essence of God. This is the Latter Rain.
Put your umbrellas away and dance through the rain. Dance as though you don't care who is watching. Let your face get moistened first and then your hair. Run through the streets professing your love for God. He is the maker of rain! He is the maker of your heart too! This is the Festival of the Latter Rain!
The Lord has chosen Kenya to be the first country to receive the outpouring of this rain, although the mist began several weeks ago all across this planet... It has been experienced by many of the end time's workers as jolts of Holy Spirit electricity that have come down from the throne room of God. It is in every city upon this planet. It will drench every person that reaches up to experience God during these latter days. Pray for the lost. Pray for those who do not care for the things of God. Perhaps the Latter Rain will be their last chance to receive the wonderful love of our Creator. Once the rapture of the bride of Christ has occurred, the Latter Rain will go away. It will be like a cool mist that has also evacuated the earth. A glorious fog that will dissipate.
Reach up to God and allow His Holy Presence to touch you and your loved ones. Experience the Latter Rains today! Ask Him to show you and He will!
Joel 2:23, Zechariah 10:1, James 5:7
Written by Gwendolen Rix
2-7-15
Once our land stretched from coast to coast
and the drums of the people beat proud
we were mighty and we were strong
we were happy . . .
then the white came to our shores
they thought our land was theirs to take
they called it Canada
they brought disease unknown to us
when we fought for what was ours they killed us
and we killed to . . .
we were a savage people true and skilled at death
many of our chiefs were tricked to come in peace
many of our chiefs were hung . . .
they called this justice
the whites stole our land and our way of life
they massacred the buffalo and bear only for their fur
and left their rotting bodies and we wept for them
the ancestors of our people fly with the eagles
drifting and falling on the wind
their cry is our cry . . .
we were herded into reservations like cattle
starved into submission and left a broken people
and they called this justice
but in each of us burns a fire bright that can never die
in each of us is a strength and courage
a tranquility and serenity
we accept the past as the white acknowledge the wrongs
and the Prime Minister of Canada
is trying to say sorry
with tears he apologizes to the people for
the hangings
the killing of our people
the stealing of our land
the 1960 scoop of our children
the residential schools of abuse
the highway of tears that goes on and on
yet, the social injustice to the people is still present today
when they steal the land we have left
for pipelines, and other projects without our agreement
we want to keep our lands pristine for wildlife
we do not want polluted water where the fish die
some of us are living in third world conditions still
with no water, electricity, heat . . . still on reservations
so you tell me where the justice is . . .
I am just a girl of the here and now but
but I hear the drums of my ancestors beating
in my heart . . .
_____________________
April 1, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/They Call This Social Justice
Copyright Protected, ID 18- 1009-383-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Social Justice
sponsor, John Hamilton
First Place
The Lie
I am an insect waiting to be squashed!
I stare hard at the ground
as if fascinated, enthralled by it
while, above, eyes of cold-cobalt
wait to gouge and burrow out
any self-belief that might still remain.
“WELL?”
It always starts with that unsettling word.
Ironic as ‘well’ it certainly is not.
“COME ON!! I haven’t got all day!”
The next sharpened remark; his checkmate,
and the denouement usual swiftly follows.
I try to speak but my weighted words
require a wheelbarrow to carry them out.
I am snagged, on the jag, of repeated criticism
which over the years has shrunken me;
diluting my beleaguered confidence.
Most of my childhood years I understood
and welcomed the fluctuations of emotion
however the grammar and punctuation
of every day skirmishes of family life:
the questions marks, the exclamations, the..... ellipses
were rules, restrictions that became impossible to follow.
So here, once again, stands my father’s temper
attempting to confront nay dominate me.
At this point, if my body had consented,
I would have galloped over the nearest horizon
however all my moving parts had gathered together,
loitering, on a corner, spreading rumours and gossip
that had rendered me rigid and immobile!
My only escape, my bolt for freedom, lies… in the lie.
Yes, an untruth, that had lain in the top shelf
of my mind for many troubled days,
fermenting in its own insidious juices.
Now sliding treacherously from the corner of my mouth,
this worded assassin, homes ruthlessly on its target
…my firework of a father.
Suddenly his face tightens, a thought frightens,
his rigid body a jolt of electricity,
as disbelief snakes its way into his thinking.
His anger reddens, his reasoning darkens
and his fists…..boulder.
But the lie has lain down beside him
fabricating disappointment, bewilderment, distrust
deep into the windows of his eyes.. then...much deeper.
Gradually I turn the key in the ignition of my pride
carefully closing my hands, knitting my fingers,
creating a statement of both prayer and defiance.
Later a thought dangles in a corner of my mind,
a consideration, a contemplation of how far the lie
will layer down into my father’s subconscious
before he understands that the lie is a…
Trojan horse carrying … the truth!
Ian Souter
And ignoble prize trumpeting hubris awarded to...
Bourgeoisie donning ersatz
overstuffed ego freezer bewigged pate
"FAKE" grotesque humanitarian
bribed corrupt judges will vindicate
jimmied cracked corn
land of "milk and honey"
red hot button he spoils to activate
countdown to Armageddon
leaving nation prostrate,
all the more reason to axe electoral college,
now holds electorate
hostage to bully tactics grate
for dead souls – zombie thriller, viz
Putin on the ritz,
whereby Pavlov's dog will salivate
on cue and pony show will titillate,
and worse case scenario, a far more terrible fate
than death by a thousand cuts
equals his refusal not to abdicate
presidency, should voters
get smart to administrate
White House with progressive commander
in chief he/she will adjudicate
decency, honesty, integrity... and acclimate
government toward amity, comity, equality...
oh,... and most importantly advocate
salutary measures affecting biosphere,
where industrialization didst devastate
contaminate by bajillion beings birthrate,
every square inch of Earth
*****sapiens succeeded to abominate...,
prima facie global warming doth correlate,
hence primary requisite mandate
to reorient modus operandi no time to wait,
where carbon footprint negligible
still preserving technological paradigm
fixing low cussed electricity to generate
courtesy renewable resources
else man/womankind will become footnote
atrophied trappings agglomerate
twenty first century civilization
damned, inundated, ossified bridgegate
checkmated, choked, chucked... wag gone wheels
das spare - tread fully tires fuming primate
jammed fruits of loins going bananas
infuriating, exhausting accelerating
no exit (sorry Sartre) to circumnavigate
hardy lee any recourse to extricate
oneself from madding crowd
self resignation minimally doth alleviate,
whereby impatient broods frustrate
inaccessible jackknifed mobility,
thence spark ignites spontaneous eruption
impossible mission to plug
crowdsource mob frenzy translate
pent up fury once loosed doth degenerate
into atavistic pandemonium cutthroat rage
snarling human logjam foaming at mouth
poised to strike ready to decapitate
any remaining shred of salvation barren feeble
slow vac hoovering, milking, and sucking
every last vestige of bondage peoples extirpate.
What happened to 'for better for
worse',
What happened to 'You I will
cherish till death do us part',
What happened to 'You have my
all, body soul and heart'.
I remember how you used to wait
for me,
Daily...
Right under that light post,
Everyday at 4o'clock,
Because that was when my
classes ended,
And you would insist on walking
me home,
Even if I wouldn't say a single
word all the way long.
I still remember how you would
sneak into our homestead,
In the middle of the night,
And come to the window of my
room,
And you wouldnt want much,
Just to see me,
Hold my hand,
And say you loved me,
Make your vows under the
glistening stars,
And mighty moon,
And then go waiting to see me
the following day after school.
I still remember that day you
found me at the river,
And you held me by the waist,
I still feel electricity flow all
through me,
Every time you touch me,
Just like it did that day,
Down by the river side.
I still remember how i turned
around and for the 1st time,
Looked straight into your eyes,
I remember how I let go of my
pot...
And followed you into the
forbidden forest.
I didnt know where we were
going,
But knowing I was with you my
heart was at rest.
I still remember laying there on
that patch of grass,
Your breath on my neck,
As you slowly untied the knot my
mother did on my leso every
morning,
And slowly I gave in,
You had said you loved me,
I loved you even more,
And because that is all that
mattered,
I surrendered to you.
I remember how you looked at
me two
months after,
When I told you that soon we
would have an extra player in the
team,
I remember the sharp pain that
hit my gut,
Split my heart,
When you uttered the words,'How
sure am I that its mine.'
I remember how you looked at
me with so much spite,
When both parents,
Yours and mine,
Said that all that could be done,
Was you to marry me,
And take responsibility.
Ten years now and you haven't
called him your son,
Not even once,
And am left to wonder what
wrong I did,
Because it takes two to do the
deed,
And the consequence of our
action is our son Dean.
If you loved me for real,
Then why would you turn cold as
steel.
What happened to the promises
under the moon,
The vows in the letters you wrote
daily after school,
The tender love I could see,
Each time you looked at me.
What happened to 'for better for
worse',
What happened to till death, do us
part.'
Foundation.
If you could escape this world, would you take that risk?
Escapism
As if cursed by the son of perdition
As I go about my new life's mission to gain admission to her realm
With Aphrodite's dead ringer who whispers songs of exquisite rendition
Praying a lone arrow from Eros bow will strike, drawing gasps from the angels watching
High in the midnight sky
As I breathe in her sweet aroma and passion filled scent, like pure oxygen
And feel regal like a king
Like King Solomon
As her aura captures my soul like a moth is attracted to a flame
So now all dark nights appear so long and so black
As the shadow people slowly advance
Whispering my name
For they know I have been changed by someone so radical.
As I entered the Fifth Dimension one strange night
Looking to finding a love so sacred and magical
But that's the magic of searching for the fantastical
For as sure as winds seduce trees by subtle caresses
As the world wakes each year in a new spring and fresh life begins
I write this before I go to the Hidden Forest
Where the White Ash stands
Where green ivy hides the entrance to her lair, and other slaves play music, while chained to metal stands
With the smell of incense on patrol in the electricity filled air
Ready to invade lungs and take control
It's ten to two in the morning and I have to appear at four
So if I don't come back, I leave this for you to know I'm fine
Keep the house
Car and money
For I'm going to a new place where fear no longer exists
A place I hope welcomes me in
Just pray for me that I don't
lose my soul and become just another flesh slave
Chained up playing music in her band
A prisoner trapped forever in her cave
As she sits or stands
On her golden throne singing with her crimson red lips
You're now mine
Now get in line
Your time will come play
For now, you're caught
And can no longer run away
For you're now just another one of my familiars
One in a trillion
No longer a civilian
All this I know for a German called Schiller
Told me over the internet
Told me to come over
Told me I'd be a member of a wolf pack serving a queen in The Great In-Between
So here I am
Pray for me
Ma ***
Forever yours
Your son
Jimmie 0
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
written too late for the contest, but wanted to post it anyway....
I had one of the most wonderful mom's any human being could have...she lives with me now - with decreasing dementia.., I answer her constant repetitive questions,
listen sadly to all of her accusations, but always have a hug and smile for her. The progression of alzheimer's is very difficult to watch and deal with...and I hope one day they may find a cure for it....
What a lovely bouquet of flowers sitting on the dresser top,
The sweet scent of lavender- who sent them? I thought,
Should get up and feed that spoiled cat before I go,
Got dressed, grabbed the TV remote, and made a cup of jo-
Think I’ll get the paper first- should be laying by the door,
Have to read what’s new today- I picked it off the floor,
That cat is never here, always wandering and staying out,
Think I’ll make a cup of coffee, now what’s all this about?
Why is my TV on? I never watch it ‘til late at night,
Electricity must be shorting out – something’s just not right,
Going to call the landlord, she’ll get some nasty words from me,
“Hello …Sadie...I’m just fine - come over, I’d like some company”
Knock, knock – who’s pounding on the door so early? Why Sadie come on in,
I was just thinking about you - my dearest, closest friend,
Oh, thank you much, I see you put some flowers on my table,
You’re sorry about what…who got run over …god no, not Sable!
Sadie, my heart’s broken – I’m angry - I feel I’m going to die,
Now, now dear, please stop it, tell me, why is it you cry?
Wait until my little cat comes back – she’ll bring you lots of cheer,
Here’s some tissue for your eyes, I haven’t seen you for a year-
Let me make you a cup of tea, we’ll sit a while and chat,
Damn thieves! They’ve taken everything – hope you like your coffee black!
That TV is way too loud , it blurs my thoughts and head,
Did I tell you about my cat? Gone so long, I think - by someone else she’s fed-,
Hang on a minute, the phone’s ringing down in the hall,
Put the TV on if you want– you can watch Lucille Ball-
HEY, YOU THERE!!! How dare you come in without knocking first,
I don’t need anything from you – last time you took my purse –
Of course I know who you are, are you trying to make an ass out of me?
I didn’t come off the banana boat – darling, would you like a cup of tea?