Long Elite Poems
Long Elite Poems. Below are the most popular long Elite by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Elite poems by poem length and keyword.
The bay and titian milestone
calls the universe
On everything we have to remember
2019 we met in joy
Raw in our hearts
We gathered in love
Humble without pride
We spoke in a voice
They called us golden ones
Oh yes! Golden ones.
After the last quarter
A strange duster appeared
And erased Gift out of the list
Many emotions were bitter
Just like me
That pended the elite Supper
Chronically, we arrived 2020
Which showed advances on arrival
The stretching chain started breaking
Everyone chose the birds they flocked with
Classic pride developed its wig
From the humble hearts
Everyone real colour start revealing
Like the rising sun in the morn.
Just a sudden
The world was attacked by Emperor'19
Everywhere was shut,
Everyone's lovers were distanced
Nations dropped like flies
Love, value and unity quenched
New fishes entered the friendship oceans of our comrades
In the pandemic period we experienced.
In 2021 we met again as earlier as expected
As there were different faces, such were different shoulders.
Everyone focused on its target
The class attendance dropped like a weighless scale.
Many break, many strike
Affect the 2021 journey.
Just like a flowing stream
The heaven sea journey to the left side
Gave the picture of the sun
Traveling from the North to West.
Days in, days out
There was not a single day without a memory
As we all gathered for the new 2022.
2022 was the year of planting fame
Many people worked to be recognized
The birds changed their groups
Everyone humbled again
Trying to move up a bit
As the result of the shock
From the previous exams.
'Just like yesterday
'I was a fresher
'Today I am an FYB'
That was everyone's comment
When we met ourselves
In the final level of the journey
In the 2022 summer months.
Despite the four years journey's metamorphosed
Into five years journey with hard stress
Joy crowned our hearts because everything is closer
We accepted to involve in the final stress
That has a short time
But so dismal, Lilly fell from the train
Almost at the bus stop.
Now on our table
We cheers to the love that we have got
Toast to the one that we lost on the way
The toast goes to every able that can read this;
And remember the memories we've been through
Which the bay and titian milestone
Has called us to remember.
The elegant thoughts of a precious mind the computational formula of a wicked demise.
Conceptual seires of theories a conspiracy to seduce persuasive succulent poetry.
Wicked mistress of promiscuous thoughts succulent dreams aromas of fresh gratuities a blurring of mixtures to blended abstracts.
Funnels draining the gravity of intellectual force to persuade a complete set of cycling ways to convey. The Amoure of flashing movies pictured all in the thought whispering speeds of domesticating breeds many ways a heart bleeds. Bundles of delightful Joys the taste of blissful, many ways eye's see to conceive the thought.
The almonds of joy roasted to enjoy conceptual way of a thinking blinking fast ways of thoughts. Orchestra's of notes orchestrated instruments of Beethoven's musical symphonies. Genie in a bottle unleashing the mysterious, unveiling imaginative ways of cultivating the seeded flower to bloom.
Enduring the elegants of an elite Romance rhythm of a Romans aroma's to inhale changing the taste of eloquence.
The artist works mending fears transducing hours to love live love with the sweat of fears8.
Rome's architectural wonder the protects precise sculpture of a wordsmiths glamour. Struts the catwalk with a book 2 premiere, lives on set, broadcasting his heart to revere.
Prince's of prancnig dressing rooms, Broadway St of dramatic dramas, elterically shocking emotions paints new moon phases, mixture of Picasso's colors a dramatization of pain seats the audience.
Photographer of a pictured humanity, colors rainbows of negativity with brilliant prisms.
A King to lion's spiritual pride brilliance of a star, rearrange the theater's of studed premieres, lives with sentiments of love's lifetime unconditionally the greatest of philosophy.
Unique elegance of sun setting romance blinding the artist of a premiering wedding, preaching the marriage of universal energy.
Rays of hope displaying poetry of wholehearted hearted beauty.
The statue of persuasive values premiering spiritually harmonies the elegance of mankind.. Energies of unleashed imaginations dreaming of pots of gold, loving the insecurities of the worlds diversity walks the testimony of £ove.
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Pen's Broadcasting Brilliance
21st century's Poet
#WickedRomancer
?#poet #poetry #poem ?
Chapter..........1..........Part..........1..........4.
Now, mighty ones,
I return to sing the song of Alahsar,
now, come with me,
once more, let us stand in the priceless dream,
like the eagles, high aloft,
let us fly now too Dream-Scape.
A great wall stands,
ever impenetrable,
this outer wall to kingdom,
it stands firm,
within the great wall,
the largest, silver gates we behold,
this is where the song does take us,
now, let us see what we shall see,
let us watch the scene unfold.
We see many soldiers of the outer guard,
armour shining,
they stand watch at the outer gates,
Now, listen, a great hammering on the gates,
something hard strikes four times on the gates,
then a short break,
this repeats, time after time,
the signal of the enemy dignitaries,
outwith the gates,
in eternal darkness,
these damned souls awaited entry.
the gates are slowly opened,
soldiers now stand expectant,
mighty hands on sword hilts,
spears at the ready,
shields held tight,
the great silver gates,
they open slowly to the darkness,
a gasp from the soldiers of the golden king.
These mighty soldiers,
they now take a step backwards
out of the darkness,
eight spider riders of Akrah,
they advance,
they come forth on their gigantic spiders,
shudder now at this sight,
slowly, these abominations,
they did come into the light.
soldiers of the golden king,
they begin to retreat,
stand tall, men of Alahsar,
the order of the golden king,
let them pass, these loathsome beasts,
The gates stood atop a hill,
at the bottom of this hill,
one hundred of the elite knights,
the Captain and ten others,
they did splinter from the group,
ascending the hill.
The mighty bastions of Hellish design,
they move so slowly forward,
eyes of amber putrescense,
aligned on head,
perfect sight,
poison fangs begin dripping,
food so close,
bodies of the most mighty bulk,
carried with such hateful ease,
eight mighty legs,
they carry the weight with ease.
True, dark-haired demons,
born of the darkness,
what fear they do instil,
their leader, on the first spider,
he pointed a long finger at the captain,
Slowly, the spiders moved in line,
towards the Captain, their Hellish march,
when the head rider was up behind the Captain,
they all started down the hill,
Let us now follow this strange procession.
To Be Continued..........
Once upon a time...
Once upon a time, in France, a storyteller fella
Wrote of a girl named Cinderella,
Meant as a fairy tale romance.
Her daddy died when she was young, and she was forced to share his riches
With three monumental b****es,
A most unhappy circumstance.
For years her stepmom and stepsibs made her perform a menial's duty,
And as she blossomed into beauty,
They grew more hateful, mean, and cruel.
Each night they dined on fine cuisine and wore lace dresses with silk sashes,
While she wore rags begrimed with ashes,
And got just crusts of bread and gruel.
Then one day a herald from the king demanded entry
To the homes of landed gentry,
They were invited one and all.
It was the prince's eighteenth birthday, and the king and queen were harried
Because their son was not yet married.
Ergo, the reason for the ball.
The stepsisters primped and preened and wild excitement they exuded,
When Cindy asked to be included, they gaped at her as if appalled.
Stepmother sneered, "Look here, I'll show you!"
With self-righteous indignation,
"Your name's not on the invitation.
Just we elite are so installed."
So Cinderella went downstairs to seek some solace in the kitchen,
But 'stead of sittin' there and b****in', she started dancing with a broom.
She whirled and twirled around the floor,
Or else she'd stand there, gently swaying,
As if an orchestra was playing
Pretending they were bride and groom.
And then a flash, a crash of thunder, and to Cindy's stunned amazement,
There gliding through the kitchen casement,
A pudgy lady dressed in blue.
She said, "Hello, my dear, no fear, I'm here to grant your secret wishes,
I'll wave my wand and clear the dishes,
And make a princess out of you!"
She waved and tapped and flicked and zapped,
And what she seemed to make the air do
Was give her make-up, nails, and hair-do,
And then to make the look complete,
Out of those rags so soiled and worn and far too torn to drown a cat in,
A gown of gossamer and satin, and crystal slippers on her feet.
Without this timely intervention, Cindy's tale might have been tragic.
Could she have managed without magic,
And her dilemma be resolved?
But everybody knows what happened with a gourd and six white mice,
And how a smudgy scullery maid was made to clean up really nice,
When a fairy got involved.
To be continued...
.
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:
I saw in his eyes that a life had been beaten away.
The cigarettes smoked, the shaking hand. A young
man he is but youth had been stripped away. Replaced
by a fierce, trained killer, a calm man he was, well
spoken and polite but kill me he would have if the
order was right.
They train them so hard to defend you and me. But
it's not training I see in his eyes. It's not fear, it's
not lies. A man experienced in what he'd fought
through, we can not comprehend the effect on the
mind that would do. Cold eyes with a smile, with
a shake of the hand. In complete awe I was as he
explained it first hand.
The memory of battle was so evidently raw. I listened,
I listened hard to what he had to say. It moved me to
tears later that day.
With a respect I had not given to any other man, I made
damn sure he knew that he had mine when I said thanks
and shook his hand. On behalf of me and my wife, I said
thanks to a man who had given all that he had, to defend
our way of life.
For this was his belief, he saw it as his calling. To be a
shield between us and terrorists, to be the brave, to
fight for people who can't fight, to be true, to walk into
hell and to fight for me and for you.
A hero he is and will always be. Though humble and
refrained, smoking that cigarette in the rain, carrying
pain as he moved forward with his life. I could see the
battle scars there like they'd just been cut with a knife.
Though so young in age, an elite combat soldier he had
been. Seen things a young mind should never have seen?
It wasn't glory, nor praise wanted by him now. Remembering
his friends dying in such pain, such sacrifice paid for us now.
What made him well-up, what made him speak to me was
hearing the simplest word that all soldiers seek. 'Thanks'.
That's not much for me to say. But him knowing that it was
heartfelt when I said it made him see that their sacrifice
was not in vein.
When I think it's hard living day to day, I will remember
this poem and what is has to say. I will remember the young
man who I met in the cold, with his weary eyes and say
thanks to him again for being so bold. Remember what he
stood for, for what his youth and his friends had died for.
When the embers of their fires finally die, the memories of
a soldier's war will never lie.
Wake! and see the extent to which you’re still enslaved
enslaved by your own kind who hanker after conditioning platitudes
the clubby comfort of secretly oath-taking power cliques
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Remember! Remember Haidar Ali his son Tipu and Akbar
remember Sivaji and Chandra Bose and Kattapomman and Asoka
remember O! remember the one and only Mahatma
Wake India! O! Wake!
Wake! India! Wake! and see how your destitute generations are shunned aside
in infested villages sans drains sans potable water sans hope
see how they’re bound in mantric incantating castiron caste strictures
Wake! O! India! Wake!
No where else in the world are humans so in-humane-ly stratified
what proof have the Brahmins to issue forth from Brahma’s head
who proclaimed them the chosen elite on top of the Indian pile of castes
Wake! O! India! Wake!
Wake! and see how your northern brethren have cast off their spiritual shackles
even if they had abjured the path of the just to yoke their bodies
yet for each child a vaccine a soja-filled stomach to keep slavers away
Wake! O! India! Wake!
Wake! O! India! Wake before it’s too late!
for your own kind are about to enslave you once all over again
and the old master needs hardly despatch troops to proclaim his divine law
Wake! India! Wake!
Wake and watch how your elite ape and espouse the ways of the old master
how for an air-ticket a stipend per diem they would do you in without compunction
how for some lions memberships in select clubs they’d betray your own true kind
Wake! O! Asia! Wake!
Wake! O! Indonesia! Wake and see how the G.N.P. in Singapore
far outweighs that of the former papal Portugal now
how the four fiery Eastern Dragons no more parade in papier maché garb
Wake! Indonesia! Wake!
(Continued in Part One - 3)
I see so many wrapped up in rage,
it consumes them all despite their age,
anger not caused by crimes they’ve suffered,
but by ideas that some have proffered,
brought about by those malicious lies
that a person must ‘identify,’
then rant and cry as if there victims,
and some how absolved of any sin.
Brought about by scorning tradition,
and making choices supremely dumb,
not finding solace in family,
but believing they’ll ‘change history.’
The crux of it, of their angry fate,
is the need of humans to feel great,
we all feel it, but how it’s fulfilled
leads them to talking a bitter pill.
Rather then having kids of their own,
to take pride in when they are grown,
rather than build their abilities
and achieve greatness that all can see,
they instead proclaim that they’re ‘heroes,’
off fighting the power, don’t you know,
and when all the world seems ‘villainy’
it’s required that you be angry.
When something can make you feel that way
you’ll do anything to make it stay,
like a junkie seeking the first high…
the things you will do to feel alive…
Say man is woman, and women men,
take a whole sex and disparage them,
say one skin is fine, all others jerks,
pillory those folks who dare to work,
cling to ideas that killed millions,
wish your own culture to be undone,
ignore all the truths you plainly see,
to feel righteous from being angry.
This is what makes them feel good in life,
loosing that cuts worse than any knife,
they’ll proclaim you should lose all your speech,
then they’ll tell you what to think and preach,
what you should eat, and do for a job,
and dictate to you your thoughts on God,
convinced they’re elite, they’ve got it right,
that utopia is within sight,
making politics substitute faith,
so all not onboard ‘deserve’ their hate…
and their lies the great hypocrisy,
their anger is warmed up tyranny.
Their false righteousness won’t turn the page,
you can’t go backwards to a ‘better’ age,
leaving them stuck in an endless loop,
making them angry and lifelong dupes,
with little chance of finding some peace,
their addiction offers no release,
they’ll scream ‘anti-fascist,’ roam the street,
looking for random people to beat,
they’ll double down and will never find
that they are trapped in childish minds,
it must suck hard to be so PC,
forced to forever be so angry.
Its sundown, the day’s been reduced to a crack of lavender and fiery pinks along the Massif des Maures mountains. This evening we’re sipping cocktails at “Les Toits,” the Hôtel de Paris’ rooftop restaurant. The French would call this a lounge.
Les toits translates as ‘the roofs’ and its stunning view overlooks the provincial rooftops that slope down the foothills to the gulf of Saint-Tropez and it’s world-famous beaches. The well lit boats are settling down and dropping anchor for the night as we complete our orders and get our second round of drinks.
This has been the best vacation. I think we’ve all reclaimed our calm after a tense freshman year. We’ve been at the beach for 10 days. Leong and Sunny are actually tan, Lisa and my hair are half a tone lighter and Bili’s black skin has taken on gorgeous, purple-ish highlights.
I’ve known Lisa now for ten months, but we share a deep connection that seems older. Lisa’s lovely, brazen, and naturally flashy, without trying. Unfortunately, though, Lisa draws men like a keig-light draws moths - whether she’s looking for them or not - I don’t envy her that. Young men, middle aged men, old men.
Lisa said it started when she was 13. She’d be in a store or restaurant with her mom or dad and a lady would introduce herself, “Hi, I’m with the Ford, or Elite, or IMG, or DNA modeling agency, has your daughter done any modeling?” And another business card would be wasted. Her mom nodded as she recalled this sordid past.
Attention just shifts to her, the party comes to her, she can’t seem to avoid it. About every 30 minutes some man comes over and introduces himself to us (to her). This man owns a local night club, would we (she) be his guest? (He’s looking at her like desert) This guy owns a yacht - “that one, there,” he points it out, in his Russian oligarch voice - he clicks a fob on his keychain and the lights blink. Oh, sure, join a strange foreign man on his yacht, what could go wrong?
There are 8 of us girls at the table with Charles, our escort and confidant. He’s a 50-ish, red headed ex-NYC-cop who just sits there quietly and sips his drink like James Bond. He seldom says anything. I lean in to him and say, “Maybe they think you're her pimp?!” Leong coughs in her drink and Charles gives me the same, serious, “behave yourself” look I’ve gotten since I was 9.
Permaculture Design
is the opposite of Agriculture Resigned
to unacceptable short-term financial risks
and long-term health and nutrition disasters.
Permaculture Design
is a hybrid of Agriculturally resilient health-climates
and Landscape Architecture,
Design and Engineering
Planting and Harvesting economic cycles
to create not only beautifully interdependent properties
but also nutrition optimizing systems
for human proprietors, ZeroZones,
and also for healing exhausted soil
and water,
air quality
and fire management,
cooperative enlightenment
of ego/eco
left/right nondualistic
health/wealth systems,
Perpetual networks of nutritional
nurturing
nature-enspiriting
polypathic
and metaphoric
Golden Rule
and Golden Yin/Yang Ratio
double-binding non-zero sum emergent
polyculturing resilient outcomes.
As such,
Permaculture Design,
like Restorative Peace through EarthJustice,
invests in Elitist claims
for Truth/Beauty optimizing outcomes,
AND equally co-invests,
Left with cooperative Right-hemispheric,
in radically inclusive feeling-thoughts,
Win/Win experiences and bicameral aspirations
for optimal health/wealth-care outcomes
through compassionate ego/eco-therapeutic intention
for universally integral care-giving and EarthTribe-receiving
between individual proprietary creatures
and interdependent EarthHabitats,
seeking equivalent win/win NonZero-Sum CoPassions,
emergent, yet already integral
synergetically co-developing.
Permaculture Design experiential
prime relational
bilateral mathematic calculations
for Golden Health Ratio output
abstracts from Win-EliteYang /[OVER]
Lose-NonElite Yin
power analysis to grab hold of
NonElite-RightBrain Yin is co-operatively win/win integral awareness
through double-binding
co-arising relationships with
Elite-LeftBrain Yang,
So Yin=Yang
because YinSquared=Yang
(both Left and Right co-equal neurologically dia-logical consciousness)
as ZoneZero=ZoneOne within ZoneTwo within ZoneThree.,..
An interdependent
intersectional
poly-metaphoric Ego-EcoHabitat multiculturing history
Where and if and when
Permaculture Design brings healing neuro-psychological experience
of Left OneZone identity
co-arising Right integral cooperative individuation
for and of Earth's Win/Win
bilateral thought/felt
ZeroZone.