Long Emote Poems
Long Emote Poems. Below are the most popular long Emote by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Emote poems by poem length and keyword.
Written on: 7th September 2012.
Written by: Sashi.Prabhu (Zeauoxian)
Tons more I wish to do,
Much more I want to do,
Before I am laid on the pyre facing the sky deep blue,
Much more I wish to do……….
I want to scale scary heights,
I want to bungee jump without any fright.
I want to travel rough terrains on bikes,
I want to make it through forests and go on long hikes.
I want to wander singing songs,
I want to sing about how I mended my wrongs.
I want to be creative again ,
I want to write about my joys thrills and pain.
I want to pour my heart and passion in my works,
I want to write verses & haikus without reactions knee jerks.
I want to take many a calculated risks,
I want to learn from the entire process without shortcuts or fancy tricks.
I want to contribute for a good cause,
I want to give without siphoning material or emotional dross.
I want to untangle messed up issues,
I want to wipe off tears with empathy laced tissues.
I want to work on taboo subjects,
I want to solve regression of y on x.
I want to listen to my music loud,
I want to pen my work in a place far from the madding crowd.
I want to sow seeds and many a plant,
I want to bask in sun rays that into my room slant.
I want to drench in the rains,
I want to make paper boats and sail them in the drains.
I want to pick up from the ground and smell fresh wet earth,
And then joyously have my speech filled with mirth.
I want to boldly write about myself only for me,
I want the world to know me & my mind as they will always see.
I want to meet often the persons, who mean a lot to me,
I want to be able to emote my passions and feelings of love and glee.
I want to be happy about just any small thing,
And all this I want to do before the last breath to my nostrils I bring.
Facing the blue skies on my funeral pyre,
I want to be on the best craft my soul can hire….
All this I want to do very soon,
Before sets into me dreaded gloom.
But the life I live is taking its toll,
I am yet to get out of this oblivious hole.
Time is just right to set aside,
And take a ride
Fulfill my wants and dreams that I nurtured in me to grow,
And I had put away sheathed in a cocoon of time many years ago.
Now I don’t want a moment long,
And I will do what I want and sing my own song,
And do what in me I let grow,
Many, many years ago.
This Citizen Banker
safely in his compound doth attest,
sans donning his typical
gabbling and trumpeting ways,
while legally tendered,
currently being cents
less lee swept away
soul fully - bellow
wing from my chest
(with fortissimo, the
whirling wide webbed
watery tidal swells
rivaling the peak
of Mount Everest)
reef furring to being
nearly reduced to poverty
hence, essentially buck
king the tide while washed out -
since day short and dollar late
circumstances force me
to cash worthless buffalo chips
astutely as you correctly guessed
from deep pull horrible
United States economic situation,
where option non
existent against invest
ting, nesting, and squirreling
financial resources jest
accessible for wealthy people
to sync investment portfolios
region of popular tax haven,
viz Cayman Islands lest
hefty costs accrue
keeping scrupulously stashed re:
sources untouchable,
where Uncle Sam canst
access ex cell lent
healthy maturing outlook
king monies, and understandable
at rage against the machine
if rainy day funds messed
up, but solvent versus
debts drowning oneself
unable to stay afloat,
where declaring Chapter 7 bankruptcy
doomed to bobbing
within a sinking boat,
and where pointless
to pull out all the whistle stops
including abandoning resorting
to heroic measures
while additionally futile
to shed tears and emote
only kidding self to seek out goat
tam ma Buddha, nor will
I resort to gofundme
(cuz ma last name NOT Kardashian),
but matter of fact lee
roll with the figurative punches
feigning tubby Jew Dee
or an incarnation
of Muhammad Ali
during his ready for prime time Box
sing rebellious jabbering
left fist out fox
sing prize fighter un
defeated champ with mox
see, his champion modesty
oozed muscles like rocks,
a bankable one man
Gibraltar with precious
mettle to the core,
not wanting with his pugilistic,
yet homegrown genteel
ringing true mark
solid core state athletically valued
bankable bonded stocks.
Tons more I wish to do,
Much more I want to do,
Before I am laid on the pyre facing the sky deep blue,
Much more I wish to do……….
I want to scale scary heights,
I want to bungee jump without any fright.
I want to travel rough terrains on bikes,
I want to make it through forests and go on long hikes.
I want to wander singing songs,
I want to sing about how I mended my wrongs.
I want to be creative again ,
I want to write about my joys thrills and pain.
I want to pour my heart and passion in my works,
I want to write verses & haikus without reactions knee jerks.
I want to take many a calculated risks,
I want to learn from the entire process without shortcuts or fancy tricks.
I want to contribute for a good cause,
I want to give without siphoning material or emotional dross.
I want to untangle messed up issues,
I want to wipe off tears with empathy laced tissues.
I want to work on taboo subjects,
I want to solve regression of y on x.
I want to listen to my music loud,
I want to pen my work in a place far from the madding crowd.
I want to sow seeds and many a plant,
I want to bask in sun rays that into my room slant.
I want to drench in the rains,
I want to make paper boats and sail them in the drains.
I want to pick up from the ground and smell fresh wet earth,
And then joyously have my speech filled with mirth.
I want to boldly write about myself only for me,
I want the world to know me & my mind as they will always see.
I want to meet often the persons, who mean a lot to me,
I want to be able to emote my passions and feelings of love and glee.
I want to be happy about just any small thing,
And all this I want to do before the last breath to my nostrils I bring.
Facing the blue skies on my funeral pyre,
I want to be on the best craft my soul can hire….
All this I want to do very soon,
Before sets into me dreaded gloom.
But the life I live is taking its toll,
I am yet to get out of this oblivious hole.
Time is just right to set aside,
And take a ride
Fulfill my wants and dreams that I nurtured in me to grow,
And I had put away sheathed in a cocoon of time many years ago.
Now I don’t want a moment long,
And I will do what I want and sing my own song,
And do what in me I let grow,
Many, many years ago.
by: Sashi.Prabhu
“Only girls cry!…Boo hoo!”
"Look at you" he taunted me, (as big brothers often do)
Making a mockery. He kept teasing me, heckling me,
as I whined, and cried, and planned revenge
Neither of us would have won a prize, for being Mom's angelic pride,
of Kirby street that hot July...
“You Thug!”..I cried,…a laughing stock...his mocking me,
and worst of all, our bitter brawl played out for all the world to see.
No recourse, no remorse..(poor me!!)… As the butt of his demeaning jokes
By then my temper had been stoked, he had poked me once too often!
So HUGE, was my disdain for his smug, big thug, that grinning face,
in retaliation, for my humilation, (as an enraged little sister might do..)
I grabbed one of his model airplanes….and threw……THREW HARD...
It broke into shards, big shrapnel pieces…I dashed for cover...
Hovering behind the hedge…waiting for his own revenge!…
Instead it left a gash, a bloody angry wound, I was aghast....!
Well, of course our Mother got involved.. .
It was resolved by iodine and bandages
And a tongue lashing...
“You could have put out his eye!! ….and then we cried, …the two of us
Well we would repent, and spent the day becoming friends...
The afternoon out in the yard….
One sudden, unguarded moment ….
there was a car,.... came ‘round the bend
and as our game was 'bout to end....his dog, (his mongrel friend) was hit
....and then....
all time suspended........
My brother’s sweet dog, who slept on his bed, was gone
The next hours painfully hung…and long is the memory that still weighs a ton….
Ending with me alone in my bed..
Mute with grief ….remembering his words….”Only girls cry”….
Hearing his sobs……all through the night..
And my parent's cooed comfort, the soundtrack to this tragic movie
That still plays in my darkest theater….all these years later
I shudder still, have a lump in my throat…how that faint little scar, can still emote…
such feelings of tenderness I felt on that day.
Over the years…we have shared many tears…
we have leaned on each other, me and my brother
Big girls will cry, just as little girls do…and big boys can cry,
..and hey,..that’s okay, too
It's always a chore to make...and still,
when Halloween comes, I find the will.
I don't rent or buy costumes you see,
but dress myself up like I want to be.
I don't trick or treat as I am too old,
yet, I do it for the kids coming to my door so bold.
Once I stuffed an old shirt and jeans
With rags and paper and other things.
Then I pinned it to the clothing I wore,
Four arms, four legs...who could want more?
One year I wrapped myself in aluminum foil,
Just to see if some of those kids I could roil.
I wasn't exactly the Tin Man of Oz's fame,
But the neighborhood all thought me quite insane.
Having pinned stuffed animals to my shirt one time
The "stuffed shirt" routine was more than a crime.
I have been hunchbacked and straight laced just for the kids,
Some come to my door, just to see what I did.
Last year I took a soft ball and pinned it atop my shoulder,
No, it wasn't there to look like a boulder.
I put a facemask and hat on it you see,
Two heads were better than one, when the kids looked at me.
I've gone to a party wearing shorts 'neath my overcoat,
But being such a flimsy "Flasher", I could not emote.
So, I took the strobe from my camera and held it inside,
Then, when I opened my coat...FLASH...got everyone wide eyed.
I don't do parties for Halloween any more,
Too much work, passing out candy at the door.
But, I still dress up for the kids to know,
That you don't have to buy a costume when imagination will do.
I will wear some wierd outfit that I have tried to do well,
Then yank open the door screaming..."Who's ringing that bell"?
It is often fun to see the reactions my costumes bring each year,
They generally don't know what awaits them here.
It's only once a year that I go on this binge,
The littlest ones never cease to cringe.
Some will run to their parents standing in the drive,
Wondering if such a creature could be alive.
But they eventually come back to reap their treats.
In spite of my bombastic costumal feats.
So, if you come to my door just beware,
More than a crazy poet, you might find here.
www.after360words.blogspot.com
www.after360words.com
The Emote Monologues Series
by Ashleigh Chaka
The steps in my mind
Dear....
l have written this with due diligence that it gets to you quickly,
For you are the only person that l can talk to,
l have been having too many headaches,
l just feel there is some dodging footsteps in these membranes,
l know l am sure
You know l just don't make use of my emotional diagnosis,
Which l have conformed to now and again,
Connoted by the fidgeting of my skull,
My mind surely has become a race course,
l hope you forgive me for not trusting people and for being so silent,
These slight bolting thoughts have been piercing my mind,
Confronting my mother being the quickest to the courageous line,
Wondering if her decisions in life were ever imbibed with my happiness,
If she was ever cognizant of what l wanted...
Maybe l overslept on my grandmother back and missed my alarm,
l have been so certain...
...that maybe lam the sacred orphan with both parents,
...l do not know who to blame for these feelings,
l end up being lost in the maze in my mind,
Well twenty-four years of her absence in my life may have eroded her mother-ness to me?
Too many questions acquiring of my thesis,
l have tried all sorts of discussions with my mind,
But to no avail,
Perhaps you can come into this discussion
What happens if the priceless gift you have in life...
Wakes up the other morning with a price tag??
...Only embedded with the worthiness only equal to our respect?
...Every time l try to resolve this and heal my self,
...the other step in mind steps right on the toes of my angry thoughts,
This is what l have been going through...
Please exonerate this blood pressure...
it's these steps in my mind serving this swollen requisite,
Now l can't move on like always,
Even my legs have had enough,
There are swollen...
Shame for some...
... a misconception of Blood pressure.
Well dear ....
Family pressure.
??+263 784 528 884
steps in my mind
Ashleigh Chaka
Innate urge to ink soul’s emote,
requires we agree to free float
in a void where thoughts don’t exist
and yet what truth is, we can quote.
Stillness a tale, with a strange twist,
speaking of how we’re by God kissed,
potent power of magnetism,
felt vividly as a bliss mist.
Beyond knowings of any ism,
graced by an unknown mechanism,
we are transformed as living light,
here now within mind-body prism.
Wisdom thus garnered by clear sight,
penned on paper in black and white,
truth that sounds like a fairy tale,
for who can translate bliss delight?
Be this as it may, we set sail,
sharing what lies behind the veil,
even if we’re misunderstood,
penned in elaborate detail.
In deep stupor, we too once stood
but now we’ve discarded falsehood,
for having been, seen and so known,
we share God’s light, as you too would.
Each must discover on his own,
light within, choosing to atone,
by slowing thoughts, remaining still,
that in time, ego we dethrone.
Simply by surrendering will,
swift becomes soul’s ascent uphill,
for when we choose to vaporise,
voids within, in timeless time fill.
Ceasing to weigh, measure and size,
we begin to feel rapture rise,
signalling we’re divine entwined,
delighting in offered surprise.
To awaken dear, just unwind,
gentle touch, be with love aligned,
that thus doing nothing at all,
we leave our base instincts behind.
God calls to us, please heed his call
and who in truth we are, recall,
known when our eye becomes single,
after which we can never fall.
Feel how bliss pheromones mingle,
causing nodes within to tingle,
wherein as we become the flame,
we hear the soundless Om jingle.
We’re neither this form nor our name.
No objects are for us to claim.
Earth is a school, we’re here to learn.
Discard hermit all claim to fame.
God dwells within this body urn,
who’s sensed when nodes within us turn,
rotating by touch of His hand,
joy birthed by a benign bliss burn.
Lower mind cannot understand,
light of Self, our destiny grand,
so if we shift from head to heart,
God fulfils our every demand.
Death orifice my Libidinous command,
I contras life's ecumenical demand!
Now reach down in this thistle grim,
Desolate me with the edged limb.
Grant this voyeur that glimpse of dead,
A comatose where life and I unwed...
As minutes kiss my infidel fawn;
The church's bell will screech at dawn.
-Enthral me now!
Tell me Neith, was all my love in vain?
While blood is surfing in silhouette pain.
Succumb; I've punctured my unfruitful coat,
Birthing wonder if Love she'll emote?
Sable wings retracted like livery spades,
My celestial dream as life slowly fades...
This Dementia spoke to me in a tongue,
But before my babel, my barbed winds gone...
Finally taken from Life's 'Woetopia'
I journey now to Death's utopia!
While my heart still beats through thorn,
Only a few minutes till it's outworn,
Due to Hel I'll never be forlorn,
Alas! as Death I'll be reborn!
When Neith failed this loom of tapestry;
I flee through thick celestial forest atrophy.
The livid scar that put me to rest;
A tourniquet to the sepulcher orb in my chest!
"Due to Life's Ouroboros Limbo Inn,
I couldn't gift a priapic cusp within,
I couldn't caress your silhouette skin,
I couldn't love your sinister kin!"
The revel Dead speak of Summerland,
A masturbation by Death's own hand.
I'll gladly sparkle your path with pearls,
Take you away where meadow depression curls!
For you see- Death is the womb
of our throe forboden, aroused Moon.
On this night tears open the ebon vaults,
A corpse left to indulge all your faults.
The pal laid to my awe desires,
This catafalque God endures weeping choirs.
Psalms sung by Life's clique,
-Part of me might cry and shriek...
-In this storm; An erubescent shower,
released me from my beloved voodoo flower.
There my heart and knife wedded!
Benighted the ground splay blood dreaded.
Through astral Magicks, I decay my flesh,
Too the entangled Moon, that trees enmesh!
... The Summerland
Now I rule as master in this domain,
Finally my swathe depression deplane.
So it can no longer grief and betray,
But I face surplus love sway!
People have eyes
Yet they can't see
Yes, the invisible things exist
They make us smile, can also be freak...
We normally can't see the spirits
World of emotions is also capable of this
In a flash, present becomes past and disappears
Whereas the future can neither be seen nor hear...
I wonder why we feel the urge to emote our emotions
But see, how spirits tell their presence without communications
Try breaking the ice at first
Don't dig your heart into the earth's crust...
Appreciate the invisible positive energy and things
Like Uranus, Saturn & Jupiter have rings
We can't see them but they are present
Try to feel the unsaid emotions which are not transparent...
It's outlandish how invisible things can be witnessed
And the funny part is how they make people stressed
Just look around, Just look within
Everywhere you'll find some invisible things...
Kindness gets unnoticed
Till we we're called as the living beings
Dead come in the good books
And ultimately become the kings...
Why we don't care for other's perceptions
May be because of the invisible misconceptions
Straight forward people tell & show what they feel
Introverts hide & suffer, hence take time to heal...
Let's bring out the significance of invisibility
It doesn't have a hunger of publicity
Like love, hate, anger and other emotions are abstract
It proves that imperceptible things can also attract...
Once I thought to do a covert act
That could make a bigger impact
Then I realized that people don't give credit to the appeared one
How will they appreciate the disappeared one...
Being invisible is like a fantasy
Just a thought of it, brings ecstasy
If given a chance & it happens to me,
I'll steal the negativity of the world & spread positivity...
Let's bring together different people of the world
Let's pull out those who are lost in swirled
Unfold your hands to hold each other strongly
Let's make this world better vanishing the vicious invisibly...
Spartan Riches
by Odin Roark
Creation asks not for center stage
How plentiful these quiet treasures
Demanding not a price
Void of glitter
Gaff
And loud acclaim drowning
Senses
Reason
Imagination pursues instead
Honesty’s nod
The up and down gesture
Everyday patrons volunteer
On discovering virtuosity’s subtle essence
Just as a flower needs but sunshine and moisture
So too the Van Goghs of everyday living
Patiently await man’s simple willingness
To emote with the light of a smile
Perhaps even tears
Knowing as in nature
Creative efforts spawn
Reciprocal wavelengths of appreciation
Finding respite wherever
An honest heart and mind’s tuning fork awaits
Often
Creation senses not the obvious
Artistry’s honorific slips
Obliging a personage quest
Unaware resultant luminary trappings
Often engender insecurities
Petrifying life’s inner sanctum
That place where inception seeds the unknown
Bestows lasting memories
Where both a mother’s caress
And the brush strokes of oiled color
Add to the canvas of expectancy’s
Freely shared gifts and rewards
Too late at times
Inspiration succumbs to notoriety’s demands
Obliging a servitude to fame
Risking enslavement
Either to gilded prisons
Or the bridled razor wire of power
Needing to gallop down a home stretch
Willingly adding to the blood-laden turf
Determined the day’s finish line
Will provide yet another carrot
To satiate the bestial appetite for superiority
Fortunately
A meaningful number
Manage to avoid a system’s pandering
Obviating trophydom’s trap
Existing solely as creation’s flow
Appeasing those whose hearts and minds
Seek but revelation of impact
A seeding of possible enlightenment
Respecting the virtue of namelessness
So goes the Spartan riches
Accumulating with anonymous authenticity
Giving it’s own reciprocal nod
Back to that which inspires creativity
All without demands
Without price