Long Encyclopaedia Poems

Long Encyclopaedia Poems. Below are the most popular long Encyclopaedia by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Encyclopaedia poems by poem length and keyword.


Gaslit

"Gaslit" 
 
Truth they say
is sometimes 
stranger than fiction

Fiction they say 
is sometimes
the tonic to escape

Blue Pill?
Red Pill?

which one to take
before one considers
it is all too late

Faith they say
is belief without
proof

A leap for some
caught in the 
wrinkle of it all

We walk our days
immersed in what
we think is real

we shun and 
turn away 
from the talk

Gaslighting
and the abysmal
moral disengagement

false projections
buried we are locked in
the old stories never end

egos burnt to ashes
finger on the forehead
marks noticed and felt 

it all begins, a new story
what it’s really all about
some believe, most doubt

Truth they say
is sometimes 
stranger than fiction

Life is what you want it to be
The old stories end
A new way of thinking begins

A new way of being begins

(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)


"Meditation Forest"
https://youtu.be/HSkgFARZbJM





Moral Disengagement 
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moral_disengagement

https://www.apa.org/international/pi/2016/03/moral-disengagement

https://oxford-review.com/oxford-review-encyclopaedia-terms/moral-disengagement/



Moral Disengagement / Albert Bandura - 

https://psycnet.apa.org/record/2015-43532-000




Gaslighting 

https://www.goodtherapy.org/blog/psychpedia/gaslighting

https://blog.apaonline.org/2020/09/15/freedom-for-the-power-to-be-believed-on-gaslighting/

https://worldnews.upexampaper.com/7-things-to-know-and-understand-about-gaslighting-more-latest-world-news-headlines/


Premium Member Mum Loves War

The hophead at the
Music festival next to me
Yells out the instruction
"Everybody shrink!"

The lead singer holds parallel
To the audience an elongated
Truncheon with a dishwashing
Glove on the end of it

A manakin dummy is tossed
Into the congregation and
It crowdsurfs it's way back
Tossed out the exit 

'Insistent savagery'
The 1956 edition 
Of Encyclopaedia Britannica
Describes rock 'n' roll 

Seagull Screaming Kiss Her Kiss Her
Mass of the Fermenting Dregs
Abingdon Boys School 
North Korea Loves John Kerry

Cutlery
The Bad Swedes
Deathwasps Stinging My Brain
I Am the Hottest Part of Hell 

It's exhausting picking
A band name

The Goodbye Goose

- The Goodbye Goose-               
Winter polishes at four o'clock, shining all the rocks aglaze.   
Reflection, stretching shadows.                     
Longer thinner men -  longer thinner still.     
Shadowy tall , feeling small.                          
Sunmangled window in a diamond quadrant.
                        
Keyhole orifice and creeping becomes nostalgia.                    
Why dont you just shut up and call?        
Home going  geese-slipstream in a vee.    
High honking traffic, trailing vapour leaves you exposing me.
        
Cascading spirits slipping down the walls, swirling eddies   
and smoky waterfalls, draping over furniture like  slimy octopi...                     
Drunken weekend metaphors , Monday morning remorse.         
Up and down the ladders of my memory, tinkly piano playing on my spiny vertebrae.
                    
Permeating lies of my story told not of voice or tongue or lips-no.                       
But of crafty bits that left unsaid, untold encyclopaedia of me.      
T'would be so simple to top you up, yet dark forces  warn me , 
to pimp me out to you is to forfeit martyrdom and victory crown,
 deprives the joy of shooting you down, shifting the blame.         
Denies the stature as abuser , distracts my winner into loser.         
Never be a frontal goose .

Tell It Like It Is

I am the silent witness that looks down from on high, 
The silent witness who inhales carbon through cleansing veins,
The silent witness that exhales oxygen to give you air,
The lifeline for humanity

I am the silent sufferer of turmoil from the abyss to my roots,
Who breathes the torment of the culling of my brothers and sisters,
Where the haunting silent echoes fall on selective hearing,
The fragility of my realm,
Destruction by humanity 

I am the seasonal encyclopaedia that holds the truth of what has passed,
I hold the truth of our histories within the depths of my trunk,
Certified by the dark circles etched within my core

I am the silent sage who has witnessed your ancestors,
And the silence of their reverence as their spirits brush past my leaves,
My silent testimony is cradled in the soft winds of the Groves,
Between us we whisper and “Tell it like it is”
But not in the tongue of humanity

Yet, though I whisper, 
no human asks for pure testimony,
Shhh! But if you listen – “I will tell you like it is”
But you must open your ears and listen, please listen…..



30/11/22

'Tell it Like it is' competition

Sponser: Mystic Rose Rose
© W J Clarke  Create an image from this poem.

Second-hand Bookshop

Below the craters of a sullen city
I burrow lightly, cautiously, hands on
Guardrails, one foot after the other,
Into the underpart of the earth,
Through a spiralling, syncope-fomenting
Stairwell, old and broken, but grandly ancient.
The light thereunder is dim and shallow,
And the rest of the matter with it was a
Basket of fusty smell.
It was by the loose side of noontime,
When mustiness gathers sweltering details.
Little rain from last night, falling from a
Sobbing, laconic south,
Made issues graver.
But I don’t mind.
With cracked, besieged walls, the grounds
Welcomed me well.
I stood and gazed at the books on staffed shelves,
Aged and worn,
Graced by times’ capsule of relief by way of
Primitive reckoning.
Tablets and scrolls rave with the lustre of fading
Yellowness.
Tomes (leather-bound) attested to the pregnancy
Of departed eras.
Encyclopaedia Britannica eyed me warmly.
A tall, bespectacled man, the age of Wilde,
With apricot skin and second-hand suit,
Thin and wobbling stick,
And shoes from Lennard’s
Buried his face on a Chaucer
Material, reading silently to the tune of
His twerking soul, his full lower lip
Mocking the higher.
Men and women clutter about, searching
And peeking from shelves of immortality,
On whose dusty surfaces elderly pages stuck
Out their tired, resting tongue-tips —like
Stray, hungry dogs on battered pavements.
The books and volumes sell for a farthing each —
Coins betrayed by roaming verdigris.
The quill feather pens for a few dashing shillings,
The scrolls, some teeth-showing cowries . . .
Above us (the reading congregation of this temple
Of books and time),
A coven of reading witches and winking wizards,
The city throng manages itself with the due process of law
According to traffic —above—
And several feet below — underground —
The hidden treasure of
Digestible info,
Divergent views.


Premium Member Social Media

SOCIAL MEDIA
I don’t know much about social media
I need help from an encyclopaedia
Social media has its place
I would rather talk face to face
Although, I do like texting and emailing too
They are the easiest things to do
But, you can’t get a hug via text or email
You could try but you would fail
You could even write a letter 
But, hugging in person is so much better
Go out and hug someone right now
I hope you haven’t forgotten how
If you go on social media, please be kind
That is the best way I think you’ll find
Social media does have its uses
Please don’t use it for your abuses
I don’t want to hear your excuses
If you use social media, use it for good
Treat people the way you know you should
Everyone just wants to be understood
People are not made of wood.
Form: Rhyme

Pull The Rug


Taking on an odd challenge - committed
Ideal forms, fired in keenest kiln
Trespass pages torn out, inmate omitted
Anguish arms, firm steely shield


Tigers eye eclipse rolls out a rosy moon
Rising icy on closed encyclopaedia 
Thick black book unlocks fabled fortune 
Weighty trust instilled immediately 


Figure of founding, supportive substance 
Dad proud serves duty’s obligation 
Blind mice sheltered held to his sentence 
Prickly wife handed down probation 


Gifted a ginger ring fingers, grand future
Lady Luck spun an oily halo roulette 
Leather bound night bite slim smile Luna
New moon on red her high fate met




           
           17th December 
           Sentence ended
Form: Rhyme

Tese Meets Rosemary

It was indeed orchestrated by providence,
for two hypnotized by love on social media.
It was indeed the innovation of the times
that united two once unbeknownst to each other.
Separated by tongue, culture, values and distance.
A French kiss across the Niger, strengthened further
by an age of digital encyclopaedia.
Behold, love is in the air as the church bell chimes
for two reaping from the gains of a smaller globe,
set to find themselves inextricably in a robe.
Lovers set to make a vow with a covenant kiss,
guaranteed to grant them both a wedlock of bliss. 
Tese and Rosemary in their world of ambience.
Form: Ode

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