Long Embellishes Poems
Long Embellishes Poems. Below are the most popular long Embellishes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Embellishes poems by poem length and keyword.
Addendum
The prerequisites have been established.
The requirements have been met.
The struggles have been suppressed.
The strife is the burden that coexists.
Now when it is time to make a transition,
We must not ignore that
The United States Constitution is in need of political activism or an addendum.
Revamping in form, we must seek militantly a practice of communism.
May I speak freely.
As the freedoms of this country state that I can.
The situations that go unspoken well destroy man.
An as women deny the knowledge, infant mortality has prevalence.
We don’t want to wake-up and find that society has been downsized.
Yet, this will be our descendants outcry.
We know that the future of any country is what we do today.
Tomorrow is a focus that situates.
We have become older adults and know life has been lived.
So why are we in denial of the same apprehension the founding fathers perceived?
Timeline agates before our face of the stages that this nation manifested.
When the founding fathers wrote the Constitution that provided visionary scope,
Part of building a great nation is to know when transgression is the greater source.
I am speaking about the natives of a diverse country of all colors.
Rumination of history is not to be shown.
We all are in this landmine together even when division is known.
You can sense the essence of segments of people formed.
We control our people when there is need for control
Like in time of natural disaster, unnatural occurrences, and war.
Addendum to prevent the surrender of humanity to conspicuously henceforward difference in free will.
One that captivates the infrastructure of this great country.
An addendum is afterthought that was not a substructure needed during our birth.
However, with immigration and the troubles that we confront,
Democracy is not negated only strengthen.
Militant communism is defined as the delineation of a nation collectivism in time of natural disaster, unnatural occurrences, and war.
We are only worth what we strive for.
_____________________________________________________________________|
Written March 15, 2016!
Enriched is the soul that embellishes the mind!
THEORY
The truth is that we are the people of North America mixed by the blood that existed via the birth of a nation. We have no biblical presence as given. We are Social Theological Studies. No God was there for us. We became a government formed from earth. We are generations discovered. We are the blood matured and mutated from origin, immigration, and enslavement. We state our allegiance and our beliefs to a greater source. We are worshipers of The Unknown God. Although we may use the given epithet by the Hebrews, Jews, and Gentiles - Jehovah God Lord – this, to us, is the unknown God.
Physiology
1. A political-religious focus delivered through a Humanities model.
2. A socio-activist voice that will address the Humanities situation.
3. Social Theological Studies searches for a greater way that captivates the
mind and embellishes the soul.
Methodology
Through empirical research via a mixed method, Social Theological Studies will investigate our biblical presence as the formation of living via structure. Poetry and philosophy ethnography of ideals, beliefs, creeds, a family way (ethnomethodology), etc. will be composed through a multidisciplinary model, which involves and is a Humanities approach.
Philosophical Hypothesis
We did not evolve. We were discovered.
This is a casual model that represents two variables, which are discovery (to the creation of a nation) and evolution (our time of metaphorical evolution).
Holistic Perspective
As stated, we have no Biblical presence given. We are committed to this sense-datum of a nation (United States of America) origin and birth because…
Only through iniquitous content does a wrongful world exist or hold capacity. Thus, this hold true to a governess of a country.
Verisimilitude
The credibility and quality of this project are authentic in research via observation, interviews, case studies, etc. that semblance of truth refers to research findings that are consistent with occurrences in the ‘real world.’
_____________________________________________________________________|
Written June 25, 2016!
My life is a nightmare that fate embellishes with scenes of horror.
I was born in the bowels of misery, my heart crushed by rage and terror.
I know the stench of battlefields, the taste of a child soldier’s tears,
I’ve seen all the demonic faces that the angel of death can wear.
My impure soul is a cemetery of eloquent pains,
In my mind tormented by human savagery, only indelible stains.
I have seen lonely mothers bury their fears beneath shrouds of silence,
Traumatized fathers fading upright, eyes nailed to absence.
I’ve walked straight upon the ruins of my own desolation,
Beneath a sky where scarred stars bleed without cessation.
My past haunts me, a pale specter with slitted eyes,
It whispers blasphemies backward, in thunderous cries.
My skin is armor, forged from mute scars,
My wounds are oaths that love shattered into shards.
I am a child of darkness, orphaned of light,
A stray tightrope walker, on a thread of dust in flight.
Yet in the furnaces of hell, however faint, a divine spark persists,
A fragment of rebellious life that sorrow cannot extinguish.
I take risks to erase this ocean of suffering,
I sail against the current on a sea of untrusting.
My dreams are leaking rafts tossed by indifference,
Yet I still row, guided by the instinct of resistance.
My nights are filled with screams no ear can catch,
Forgotten faces that my memory cannot detach.
I live among shadows, I speak to the gone,
I console my ghosts who weep within my blood alone.
My days are duels between the fall and the rise,
A silent pact between the abyss and a last try.
My color wears the mourning of futures cut down,
Yet in the blaze of my tears, something walks on unbound.
I am the gravel voice of a world betrayed,
The witness of a century in ruins, by forgetfulness decayed.
I no longer beg for peace — I forge it from my torment,
I carve my convictions in stone to defy my lament.
For even the damned can script their liberation,
Transform their pain into a proud declaration.
And if I must fall, let it be standing, unrepentant to the core,
With my traumas as epitaph, and my courage as accord.
Liberation of Paris (August 26, 1944)
Who would have thought
To see American soldiers
Under the Arc de Triomphe
Marching along Champs Élysées,
In the Liberation of Paris;
When a short while ago
German soldiers' goosesteps
Thumped on the avenues,
Filling Parisian hearts with fear;
With Nazis everywhere,
Enforcing Nazi dogma
In La belle France.
On both occasions,
People broke down and cried.
Out of horror in 1940,
The other of joy in 1944.
That generation fades
And another takes over.
Three times played out
But France’s honour was restored
When de Gaulle and his entourage
Stood at the base
Of the unknown soldier’s grave,
« Bonaparte, voici ta gloire,
La souveraineté française reste! »
(“Bonaparte, here is your glory,
French sovereignty remains!”)
The monolith embellishes
Worthiness of culture,
Felt in the eye of those present
When the wreath is laid,
« Combattants de la résistance c'est votre heure
Beaucoup sont morts et certains
Emporté dans les bras des anges. »
(“Resistance fighters, this is your hour.
Many have died, and some
Swept away in the arms of angels.”)
Paris fell in silence,
Liberation was loud.
Gay Paree where Mademoiselles
In love with life itself
Fling themselves
Upon soldiers,
And I feel expression to say,
« Belle ville de lumière! »
(“Beautiful city of light!”)
We cry for someone
When there is time,
And enlighten each other
With finger wagging.
The slaughter atrocious,
The wait strenuous.
And I’ve become reflective.
I was raw. I had not experienced,
And would have kissed her
Like there was no tomorrow;
But my candle was extinguished
In the Seine’s ebb.
***
Note:
During World War Two (1939 to 1945); the “Libération de Paris” aka Battle for Paris, lasted from August 19, 1944 to August 25, 1944. The formal surrender of the Nazi occupation of Paris, France was on August 26, 1944.
General Charles de Gaulle (1890-1970), was the leader of the "Free French" forces during W.W. II, fighting against the German military occupiers of France.
A BACKWARD GLANCE
Alongside a Chiltern chalkstream
I lay me down to dream,
of country paths,stiles and steep slopes,
those days,long ago,filled with hope;
I dreamed of days of summer sun
when my life had just begun,
climbing trees,cricket on the green,
the first time I made the school team;
Football with coats and tennis ball,
bonfire night fireworks in the Fall,
carol singing through silent streets,
paper chains and Christmas treats.
Crystal clear,vision's backward gaze
brought forth from nostalgia's haze.
Many instant delights can never last
All future certainty lies in the past,
Often distant memories linger so
Nostalgia's balance sways to and fro;
Fleeting and ephmeral is the dream
Yesterday's hero,a today's has-been,
Rose-tinted glasses with short-sighted views
Can distort all perspective,out of true;
Twenty,twenty embellishes hind-sight
But cannot guarantee,a future bright,
Experience forgotten wastes away
As superficiality has its day.
The wheel of life endlessly turns again
Grinding mistakes with perpetual pain.
The imaginary musings of my mind,
experience past & present lingers long,
dusted off,re-opened,viewed from time to time,
retrospective perspective changes all;
Maturity's long-sightedness squints aghast,
then savours the mellowness of memory;
A tear,a smile washes nostalgia's face;
Today will be yesterday,gathering dust,
then filed,microfiched,all too soon forgotten
'til an event unlocks the museum again.
Dull
colours,
long buried-
this sepia
day
Our
childhood
memories-
a forest of
dreams
see
snows of
yesteryear
drifting in my mind.
score
and ten-
looking back,
one day at a time.
TANKA
Spring is cricket on the green
Summer is picnics in the park
Autumn is conkers from the crescent
And in Winter slides on ice
across the schoolyard
Crystalline 57 Nostalgia
The stream where pooh sticks once were raced
now flows into memory's embrace
THE WAKE
Slowly,
nostalgia
trickles into
torrents,to flood memory's
canyon.
Miles in a coaster, a day and hours elapsed,
Felt the utmost relief when the whirling wheels halted;
So weary and dizzy, even a smile seemed so hideous
But an in peace slumber I desperately craved for;
Eyes wide-opened at the chirping of euphonious birds,
Stirred myself with hankering for the glimpse of exquisite village,
But still a dawn blanketed in frosty mist, sight diminished,
I’d only steal the blurry scene of Tang valley;
An hour after, when the glorious sun showed its perky visage,
Outside I stood relishing the splendor of the hamlet
And savoring the icy breeze wafting underneath my nose
With succulent aroma from the Mother Nature;
Amidst undulating hills and mountains down lay a quiet place,
So called Tang enclosed by rich vegetation and iridescent river
That embellishes the heavenly place superfluously picturesque,
Enticing all man into the blissful homeland of Tang Valley;
Houses clustered and down beneath the farmyard,
Divine school stands with its pride upheld
And hallowed veneration anyone would esteem,
It is so-called Tang Central School elevated of late;
Established in 1965, primary to middle since last year,
Now shines the school proud and gratified of its new recognition
As the central school bestowed with prerogatives and autonomy,
And concurringly, rejoicing its Golden Jubilee in eons;
Postures upright like inert figurines in a park,
Crescendo of unripe singsong voices spring at eight and thirty,
Crooning the sincere words of praise and homage to Tsa-Wa-Sum
That infuses the all hearts with never like joie de vivre;
A trickle of erudite whizzes and astute greenhorns
Gathered deep delved into a bond of kinship with no antipathy,
But an unremitting fondness amongst solicitous brethren-
A purveyor of ecstasy as its depiction I call for the beautiful home.
In the anchorage of the mundane mind,
detached from the principled roots of sanctity
by the dislodging drive of sequential desire,
untamed instincts shroud the senses.
As the needle of ethical compass breaks,
the vortex of immanent emotions drags the mind
into the fathomless inner depth of deriding abyss.
Beneath the sensual surface of mortal perception,
the mind transitorily shapes the innate images
on the fleeting screen of spreading awareness,
shifting beyond the limits in search of new sensitivity
within the quintessence of unique existence,
the construct of sublime elements of divinity.
In the realm of existential dualism,
with the dark and depraved attributes,
irreducibly distinct from the righteous potency,
human being breathes as God’s generous gift
the divine breath of the devout life,
the intrinsic source of creativity for love and altruism.
The enlivening inner window of enlightenment
lets inside the sacred sunshine of seminal virtue,
highlights the positivity of the persistent psyche,
enhances the defining strength of the spirit,
flowing with the fountain of generosity and empathy,
that finds the cathartic pathway of spirituality.
The spiritual journey is a trying translocation
from vice to virtue to the high stratum of consciousness,
achieved by the introspective dissolution of the boundaries
of the rigid thoughts through transcendence.
As the separation of outside-in and inside-out dissolves,
intrinsic virtue permeates the non-dual awareness.
When the immanent emotions bloom as radiant lotus,
the soul contained within the limits of acuity
finds freedom to merge with the transcendent consciousness
of divine oneness, and fusing with the supreme,
embellishes the sublimated life with heavenly adornment.
The absolute then assimilates the liberated atman.
[A] World is us.
[The] World is the universe.
Attuned to captivity from the freedoms denied to others internationally,
only defines true political activism.
Benevolence does not just form even in civilization.
We must annihilate those that deny peace.
This is where we find our true leaders.
For the love of God, let’s stand together as a method of wealth.
Formulate the terrorist to close the flood gates.
Our grief and bereavement states that we will die one day.
Therefore, our journey should not be negated by killings premeditated.
The world as a systemic force defines the people who invest in hope.
The emotions shown from unnatural occurrences demarcates a new system of
government.
Forum for Discussion - we will define (M)ilitant (C)ommunism.
It is our civic duty to bring forth new theory.
A world as us deals with our home front.
Unnatural occurrences do shape world war.
Once ignored, it overwhelms the balance of amity and peace.
We are the people that find responsibility in ideology.
Militant communism is to be.
For the love of God, let’s endow humanity a greater passage to a new era where
peace is positioned in precarious time and not through terrorism
contradicting creation and life.
For the love of God, we should appose right from wrong where we do not
condone beheading at all, but stand together to eradicate all aberrant
mind-sets to preserve human existence.
For the love of God is an outcry that describes a terrorist attack.
For the love of God, Why?
_____________________________________________________________________|
Written March 24, 2016!
Enriched is the mind that embellishes the soul...
In the vast expanse of existence,
Your world, I find, fails to captivate my senses.
Unfortunate days, like wayward wanderers,
Don the garments of absurdity,
Parading their disconcerting presence.
Each dawn arrives with a disquieting aura,
Clad in a haphazard ensemble of potluck fabric.
It seems that a patch of uncertainty
Embellishes every opinion conceived,
Nurtured within the confines of uninformed ignorance.
Amidst this absurdity, I stand as an observer,
With an insatiable hunger for enlightenment.
I yearn for a discourse that transcends
The boundaries of conventional thinking,
Where ideas dance freely and opinions
Are nurtured by thoughtful introspection.
Alas, it appears that such rarities
Are scarce in the fabric of your world.
In this realm of uninformed ignorance,
I find myself seeking meanings
In the corners where wisdom resides.
I long to converse with the enlightened souls
Who embrace the beauty of uncertainty,
Who question, explore, and never settle
For the comfort of blind acceptance.
Theirs is a world that beckons me
With its intellectual mystery,
Interwoven with the colors of enlightenment
And the textures of profound insights.
Let me wander beyond the borders of your world,
In pursuit of intellectual sanctuaries,
Where minds bloom like vibrant flowers
In the meadows of knowledge.
I shall embark on a quest to quench my thirst for wisdom,
Where every step shall unravel new perspectives,
Unraveling the mysteries that lie concealed
Beneath the veil of ignorance.
The stream cascades skyward in swirling spate of ebullience
with the dancing shadows of trees swaying entranced.
Tempting topaz dew makes dainty diadem on glinting grass tips,
weaves lilting lattice for me as I lie dreaming on the meadow.
The drizzling dust of the descending moonbeam sequins
in the silken sapphire night of argentine ambiance,
embellishes pearl-laced cobalt sea waves of rolling rapture.
That’s where I saunter searching for my muse elusive.
Up above the majestic mountain slope’s supine undulation
stands the sun-soaked summit of ecstasy I crave to climb.
Down the verdant valley’s slithering spine smoothly curved,
winds the emerald pathway on the pictorial plains I tread.
When the floating fleet of gloomy cloud clumps drifts away,
the rain-washed sky spreads the spectrum of my dreams
of chromatic charisma on the rainbow arched horizon for me.
That’s where I trace my ingrained imagination concealed.
The scarlet sun rises with grandeur with the nascent dawn,
lifts the veil of miasma from the masked facet of fervor.
The wind of lyrical inspiration blows in the bland mindscape,
sweeps away the dust from swathed senses to revive anew.
Turning the buoyant embryonic emotions into a surging storm
of creative craving blowing unrestrained with essence of expression,
I fly on its fantasy wings in cadenced air to the realm of afflatus.
That’s where in search of art of words I wander as an obsessed poet.