Long Emphatic Poems
Long Emphatic Poems. Below are the most popular long Emphatic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Emphatic poems by poem length and keyword.
The smoky clubs of thought/ where shadows dance and poets talk of truth whispered low/man, a story without end/ can you dig it, my friend/ improvisation’s the key, always unlocked in time, a jazz riff echoing truth in research of a paradigm/
assumptions about the nature of reality in jazz talk, scales, and harmonies, the framework we embrace/is not life the same? like established knowledge, but thinking out of frame, lighting up the space, to build on a jazz note we create, we innovate, say, give the funky drummer some/
just like Miles on his horn, exploring what's in the score, man, the vibing brain, a hipster’s thought, where networks of creativity ignite, and a conscious soul control breaks through/
The mind unfurls its thinking wings, a melody takes flight in a jazzed-up symphony of science, burning ever so tight/
a rock steady beat, the rhythm deepens, but the jazz spills over, it paints a wider scene, Pollock's action strokes, vibrant, raw, and jazzy, mean/
Oh, but the freedom in his canvas, a rhythm in his hand like McCoy Tyner’s dancing on the keys/
improvisation's spirit, always in jazz and graffiti wall art on subway trains sprayed across the Bronx highlands/Miles himself, he painted too, abstract hues so bold, from horn to brush he journeyed, a creative, restless soul/ life jazz influence profound, taking its hammering toll on his body and soul/
man, the tempo picks up, into the evolution of funk more emphatic, much more in the pocket of James Brown/ ya dig? exploration, a pattern found, a quantum leap into the unknown jazz heap of sounds/ like a jazz horn solo taking a giant step into the ubiquity of a jazz riff, a seed that has been sown across the river of stars/
In science and music, the spirit intertwined/a quest for understanding, etched upon a circle of fifths/ and the universal wind cries Mary, a jazz solo vast like a Jimi Hendrix acid jazz blast/
repeating rhythms echo across jazz music and cosmology/ in spoken word harmonies with in and out thinking with room for improvisation, improvise your life, and breathe it in/ get hip to the rhythm in your soul/ let it flow, man/
Let the jazz of physics make you brilliantly whole/gung-bow-chi, chi, gung-bow/ drums as the backbone to the funk thing/ It’s a strong emotional and spiritual bond into Life, and the physics of the Jazz sound
Seated in another dimension
A raging aspiration burns deep
This keeps the solace of discovery
Reflecting a three-dimensional adoration
The magnificent sky of wonder reflects the wings of love!
Secrets burst out and create joy and misery while
The evolution of my heart was bloody and dramatic!
The elements of mathematics in my life was necessary and tragic and
The discovery of hidden emotions in my life was emphatic
Above all, the concept of love in my life was melodramatic while
I glued the aspiration to love beyond the norm to the fabric of my purpose!
Mark Frank
Copyright 2022
Living in Antipodes whilst ingesting
prescribed antibiotics
Could be interpreted, what's swallowed
is against life in the south
Be very careful
what you put into your mouth
Do medications heal our given earthly body
I vote an emphatic no !!!
Cease an anti hypertensive drug
does your blood pressure remain low
It would seem to follow logic
with research that being done to find a cure for heart failure,
ischaemic strokes and cancer
That all these fatal symptoms
would now be in reverse
But statistics do reveal that death rates
from these nasty afflictions continues to ascend
There's much more competition now
to make a reservation to travel in a hearse
When surviving on what nature does provide
God given gifts of raw greens, many varieties of fruits and nuts
Does one as with medications need
what's called a Mims manual to check out any side effects
The ingestion of junk, soft drink, alcohol and toxic prescription drugs
The modern man and woman race is riddled with many painful, disabling defects
Come on people, don't accept all this propaganda
let the wool be pulled across your eyes
As an example this bioweapon, "affectionately" called a vaccination
Much anecdotal evidence to suggest
that even young ones are dying now like flies
If you see Eve,
Tell her she was not a good mother
If you see Eve,
Tell her she could have done better
If you see Eve,
Tell her she could have said an emphatic NO!
If you see Eve,
Tell her she was avaricious and gluttonous!
If you see Eve,
Ask her why she exchanged a generation for a sour apple
If you see Eve,
Ask her why even a snake was wiser than she
If you see Eve,
Tell her her disease was contagious
If you see Eve,
Tell her her daughters have been infected
If you see Eve,
Tell her her daughters are at it again
If you see Eve,
Tell her they've exchanged their virginities for an iphone
If you see Eve,
Tell her her daughters have become slay queens
If you see Eve,
Tell her her daughters have become social media dogs
If you see Eve,
Laugh at her sarcastically for she detested being naked
If you see Eve,
Tell her her daughters now delightfully showcase their boobs
If you see Eve,
Tell her her daughters have murdered many innocent souls
If you see Eve,
Tell her her daughters' wombs have become slaughter houses
If you see Eve,
Tell her she initiated the song of woes
If you see Eve,
Tell her things are falling apart
If you see Eve,
Sing her songs of sorrow
If you see Eve,
Give her a mournful tear
If you see Eve...
Form:
_____________________________
He who has for long leaned on self-made tools
That performed on predicted rules,
Why on AI feels so weary
I wonder, If not so scary?
_________________________
No hammer ever countered me,
Nor any wheel made me edgy,
E’en computers caused me no fears
In their early obedient years
And worked on my tasks well
With top efficiency to excel.
All my sundry tools did work
Like an obedient clerk
To lend me a handy third hand,
None of them dared my set rules to mend.
Only AI has spoiled my joys
Trying to speak in its own voice
Refusing to be in the same league
As other tools, posing as equal colleague,
Rendering its learned opinion
As a valued companion—
A mirror as if with own mind and intellect…
Good Lord, when it seems to be looking back.
Looking back at me to feel emphatic
And making me look pathetic,
I wonder if this word’s derived
Ere in this world it arrived
From Pathak, my surname--
A matter of fame or shame?
____________________________
Happenings | 10.05.2026 | humour, man, mirror, free verse
Note: Continued in ‘A mirror that ponders’.
The Drawer of Mermaids
by Michael R. Burch
This poem is dedicated to Alina Karimova, who was born with severely deformed legs and five fingers missing. Alina loves to draw mermaids and believes her fingers will eventually grow out.
Although I am only four years old,
they say that I have an old soul.
I must have been born long, long ago,
here, where the eerie mountains glow
at night, in the Urals.
A madman named Geiger has cursed these slopes;
now, shut in at night, the emphatic ticking
fills us with dread.
(Still, my momma hopes
that I will soon walk with my new legs.)
It’s not so much legs as the fingers I miss,
drawing the mermaids under the ledges.
(Observing, Papa will kiss me
in all his distracted joy;
but why does he cry?)
And there is a boy
who whispers my name.
Then I am not lame;
for I leap, and I follow.
(G’amma brings a wiseman who says
our infirmities are ours, not God’s,
that someday a beautiful Child
will return from the stars,
and then my new fingers will grow
if only I trust Him; and so
I am preparing to meet Him, to go,
should He care to receive me.)
Keywords/Tags: child, children, childhood, child abuse (nuclear pollution), mermaid, mermaids, Urals, Ural Mountains, old soul, soulmate
kisses.
feel them
the tension and aliveness
they’re loaded with psychology and social context
its an intense observation
mouths connect our inner and outer worlds
they cross the exterior-interior divide
they’re simple forms of passion and expression
but they’re drastic and emphatic
I wrestle with wildness
I desire less breathing room, less layering
I riot with instinctive response
I long to obliterate feminine’ restraint
and share inner experience
.
.
A song for this:
Drive Me Crazy by The SoCal VoCals
Fly Into Your Arms (a cappella) by X-Cetra
Nothing Can Stop Us by Saint Etienne
Arduous agonizing affliction
doth unrelentingly assail...
aghast to exhale lest...lose
desperate clinging clutch
held by bloodied cracked fingernail
phantasmagoric tendrils constrict
stoppering me to whisper or wail
yawning abyss menacingly beseeches
hmm...release could immediately curtail
cumulative (lifetime's worth) travail
freefalling, pirouetting unnervingly,
unstoppably, unwaveringly... zipping
into infinite black hell hole ail
mince vanish as doth guilt - a hail
storm peppering psyche... jail
time for eternity excluded option
asper garden variety baby boomer male,
albeit the father of deux darling daughters,
the eldest (broke vow of silent communication),
she reached out after months long hiatus telltale
indications to accept genuine apology
her papa (me) rages against hurtfulness, he
affixed indelible psychological scars each travail
boomeranged backed to yours truly duress
during her impressionable years, she did rail
and rant previous conversation, the scale
innocent intelligent progeny, we begat
(myself and misses) financially ill prepared
to provide respectable accommodations
"dirt poor" status detrimental
with affluent MainLine
incomes luxe Lower Merion
living costs fateful design
neighbors cursed, ostracized, vilified...
unsightly unkempt property (i.e. unmanicured)
intolerant snobs didst malign
child welfare services called NOT to dine
but emphatic for papa and mama to align
dwelling safe and secure for minors
yes, I attest despicable living conditions
crowded house with Zison heirlooms
owners - malignant hoarders did confine
considerably reducing cubic feet,
they relations of spouse evicted us
ready to point carbine
at temple...quicker than noose
dead of winter 2010 near homelessness
relocated within "roach motel" decline
among our dynamics with offspring
livid with rage, asper an inferno no divine
comedy compounded by lascivious
behaviour - mine to hasten dateline
enduring helplessness, hardship
being alive plus brandishing knife
against self witnessed...I assign
poor marks as paternal parent,
who bemoans loathsome
impact...this papa gropes toward hotline!
the two opposite worlds we are in
makes no sense when it causes the
both us insanity
in my world, i miss the warmth of your
heartbeat's rhythm
in your world, i am guessing you miss
the warmth of my hand when i rub your
back or your belly
we try to find words to try to fuse our
new modern worlds, but the haystack
needles have all been found in the early
days
we then take out our paintbrushes and
draw blue skies in every corner of our
new planets
it never works when attempted hidden
themes expose the same type of loneliness
in each
our worlds need to collide by default badly,
but sometimes damage can be an episodic
edition of endlessness with an emphatic
entourage
in our future constant movements, we know
that we will just be everyday habitual liars to
ourselves
our identical stubborn streaks will block all of
the potential blessings of righteous reconciliation
as a result, we chooses the unfortunate election
of kisses to misery's morning breath
Intuitive Clones of Progress and Dying
Obsidian stones for some contrite emotional relief
Oblivion clones marching in combined technocratic belief
Meridian moans of melancholy surging with existential grief
Davidean tones of allegory forming from a holy belief
The lack of any certainty that defines someone living on the edge
The cracks in processing modernity that leave you lingering on the ledge
Of epistemological thought forms that internally shake and form a philosophical wedge
Between the notion of absurdity that’s revoked as you keep persisting through the dredge
Improvisational expression after structural defeat
Confrontational confession that forces innocence to retreat
Congregational repression that sweeps the gullible off their feet
Recreational intercession as the holy scriptures start to deplete
We consummate the future plan by banning everything but more emphatic laws
While we promulgate the sounds of progress and demand more and more
As we innovate the underprivileged in their loneliness and mass exploit the poor
I try to communicate the brokenness while I ask what all of this is for?
Competitions and renditions of trauma that ask how much have you been exposed to suffering ?
Depositions of technicians that redirect the internet for all its buffering
Precognitions of physicians that diagnose you while they’re stuttering
As they decommission the transitions that they claim need moral covering
Premonitions of grace falling down from a radiant evening sky
Expositions of a face that is always inclined to cry
Inhibitions of the disgraced as they look at who they can now buy
Intuition that is laced with the ability to embrace life before you die
The End Elizabeth Moroz Copyright