Long Enjoins Poems
Long Enjoins Poems. Below are the most popular long Enjoins by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Enjoins poems by poem length and keyword.
S/he awoke won but foggy morning
with a benignly felt Conjecture:
Positive Psychology
is also Political-Economic Health Projection
Cognitive truth statements (+)
feel aesthetically beautiful,
proportional.
Theorem (-,-) as not
not tentative soul-full Conjecture
False relational and transactional anti-reality
untenable lack of good healthy faith,
feels chaotic,
dissonant,
distorted,
discommunicatively disassociated
arhythmic,
unpatterned,
not yet information
Preformative reformation
having merely potential co-empathic
co-arising powers in some future or past
always continuously present time
that could not possibly less well-regarded than now;
re-ligiously exforming positive reassociations.
Conjectures co-arise Theorems
as Theorems prove/disapprove
Non(0)riginating Dipolar CoBinary Conjectures
as Left languaged Brain
co-arises Right Brain's notnot balancing co-empathic feelings:
trust (+1) binary Tao-sync with (-0),
mistrust competitive (0)-sum survivalism,
active distrust of (-,-) Win/Win thrivalist
conjectured truth-value
cooperative therapeutic trust statements.
Empathic Trust conjoins healthy political co-arising relationships
and positive eco-normic, ecological intention
nondual transactions
between Left Conjecture and Right-Proportioned-Patterned
felt healthy and safe environmental
positive deep learning contextual
conjectural win/win systemic theorems
while
CognitiveLeft v IntuitiveRight Dissonance enjoins further confrontation,
chronic stress heading toward climatic distress
between LeftWing v RightWing UnBalancing DisConjectural UnTheorems
unable to fly together
evolving rabidly falling apart
ecocidally traumatic political-economic identity
discontented with unhealthy EarthTribe neurosystemic minds
divorcing ecosystemic bodies.
Healthy truth slow-grows trust
or revolutionary bust
of collectively incarnated win/win
v win/lose
v lose/lose
conjecture bubbles.
The cat disrupts her thinkable moment, by
attention thou need, she took the torso
and kept it hold from the breast by
used all ways, and kept the stand for
apart the opening window in somnolent
in love instant glaceing the helplessness
terrain in nightfall moonily lasts sky,
after, stands for in deeds’ surge panache
up fictions points then’ sinew really not
her moved away from the window
thus, put-down above rugs in blue
as faithful roommate, busing in breach
And ratified self, at troughs enjoins kitchen
baking feed. Now blank having, his mind
And freedom from images in love stages —
Anew think channels while the nowadays.
1. Kelly Lune:
silk rose under dome
opaque glass
thwarted love preserved
2. Jack Collom Lune:
the faded corsage
under a dusty glass dome—
missed spring ball
NOT FOR CONTEST
POET'S NOTES
The lune (aka American haiku) created by New York-based poet Robert Kelly (1935–) in the 1960s consists of 5-3-5 syllables (the 13 syllables correspond to the 13 lunar months), and the shape resembles a crescent moon hence it is never centred on the page. Later, poet Jack Collom (1931–2017) came up with the word-count-variant, The Lune, that is more popular today, namely, 3-5-3 words per line representing a gibbous moon. No cutting word required (it may employ enjambment); and any subject matter (reference to nature is not a prerequisite). Punctuation, capitalisation, and rhyme is the prerogative of the poet.
The following poetic forms are akin in design to the Lune: Empty Moon, by Alan Mudd (a 9 word poem—3 words per line); Leaf, by Joseph Braun & Marielle Grenade-Willis (The Braun leaf is an eleven syllable couplet: 6-5. The Grenade-Willis leaf is an eleven syllable tercet: 3-5-3); elevenie or elfchen, German meaning little eleven, (1-2-3-4-5 syllables per line with specific structure requirements); and triplet.
The triplet is a three word poem—usually no capital letters or punctuation is used. As a linguistic geometry the triplet may be seen as a triangle in two ways: 1. each word is a leg, or 2. each word is an angle. One of the principle insights one gains when producing triplets is a functional knowledge of how (and under which circumstances) words form especially reliable structural bonds; it often enjoins adjectives to a special noun. A famous triplet by Aldous Huxley:
Brave New World
I travel in my imagination to talk to the sky about the sound from crying
Mum, the coastal area erosion my interest to take the risk to talk the
night gown glowing beneath the wind from the vile of verbose. The night
sombre to talk to me in lusty thy heart call to convey the conversation to
the contraction of my imagination pole to polemic night.
The cart of load middle of office article of etiquette acquiring the anchor
of life floating on the top of leafs to the drop of a pen that sound
inculcate Carbon Monoxide in my lungs, the bugs ramming the trim chopped to
the shape of my poetry garage, where lullaby play violin appeasing the
heart to function for the follow six years to come in the future to the
Futuristic that I have to feature all the songs sang by the birth to take
to me to my birthplace over second of ponder to pedal the hurdles to better
future star.
The shape of a room isn't my stop where building of atomic infractions dust
the dock to the documents of love, salad of emotions building in to into-to
Ruin not thy heart it sound correct to the correspondent reticent, the
Wagging of tail enjoins the brown color to the skyscraper in the heart of
the city sun. The ink of hate won't drop to the sound of pebble and the map
Of courage cool down the ridges moan of baby.
The high thinking keep on colonizing my entire colorless breathe that
wanted to shake to the voice of the night, the taste of understanding swirl
meek hard and aim of okra is too slippery the road to sound of success is
second hand to those placed theirs, the might blame the corrosive
Situation pink of flowers impact changes to the scent of cigar.
I come not to enlighten you
but in my way destroy;
embellishment of personhood
gives me such little joy.
The dark I bring on wings scarred black
shall blind the morning light;
No trace is left to levitate
humanity from blight.
Tell parasitic paranoids
who need to bleed their hate,
I am the Hydra coiled to wrap
around their garden gate.
I'll feed upon the multitude
your little bastard brood,
to satiate the darkest fate
of my eccentric mood.
This universe in multiples
(beyond redundancy)
where thoughts are bound to mind around
a new complexity.
The time has come to end the end
begun so long ago;
the human race is baseless space;
corruptions putrid flow.
And I have countless duplicates
who rival even me;
lips drip to sip your succulence,
a feast consumed with glee.
If could grasp this world within
the palm of your right hand,
you will not be released or free
to walk this worthless land.
It is a universal vice
I share with you this day:
All life will ebb in ember fires
turned cold and powder gray.
You ask of Poets in my world?
I say they all are ONE,
each moving like a metronome
until their verse is done.
You pass these perfumed days of rest
'neath flowers round your gate;
but wretched stink of old decay
enjoins Mephisto's hate.
I write my rhyme in verse to curse
and tease with soulless ease.
Perhaps I write to steal your fright -
we Hydras love to please.
Now count the words for I shall not
and you will find them true -
I RODE THE ROAD OBLIVION
IN RHYTHM RIDE TO YOU!!
All seasons come with grace and not all fall for them with grace,
Nurturing all they preserve,
What makes them different from among themselves,
We all are like seasons,different in all ways,
But commonality makes us alike,
We all must prevail,
But prevalence breaks when we try to interchange,or break the lines,
Escapism is like a ball of lines,
One which I can jump from new,old or unknown,
It enjoins the I from yesterday,today and tomorrow,
And we all are part of the lines,connected,
A space with hands outstretched to many self,
The self is a safe of trauma,loss,peace,war and beauty,
All within one thing;heart,mind body and soul:The self,
Preservation helps to make grow,
Containment keeps alive,
But longevity may break if they take too long,
Despair and joy to live is prolonged,
Life span is short no matter how long lived,
It still feels like a short period of time,
Like the span of a fly wandering,
Survival must persist,
Even if it doesn't wander,
Its span will always be short,
No matter how long it waits,
As its predator lurks from above,
In patience,resilience and hunger,
Life offers a lot of hands,
Among which are good and bad,
One must always seek to live,
Hands outstretched will either be good or bad,
One can't simply wait,
As the fly will reach its promised demise,
Life must go on.
A journey together,
Storms to weather;
Companions unlikely joined
Despite their task
on this path which many ask,
“Why the battle?”
“Why the pain?”
“Does not God care?”
Martyr whispers gently,
“Surrender to Love’s grander plan.”
Warrior shouts the battle cry,
“Persevere, victory’s at hand!”
Martyr teaches mercy, grace and love
to tame the tyrant within.
Warrior teaches perseverance, courage and strength;
the tyrant to overcome.
Companions unlikely joined
For this journey long
Companions to aide
Along this path long laid.
Healing the prize
Despite surprise.
Lessons to be learned;
Trust to be earned,
to heed the other’s voice
and make the wiser choice.
This battle within needs each
For which to teach;
As guides along the way.
Martyr entreats Warrior,
“Surrender to Love’s call,
For grace and mercy extended to all.”
Warrior enjoins Martyr,
“Be strong, be courageous,
Honesty within
To conquer every sin!”
Warrior needs Martyr
to tame the tyrant within.
Martyr needs Warrior
To defeat the tyrant;
For victory to win!
The journey for this tyrant within,
Beckons Love’s call;
Grace and mercy to all.
Healing within and without;
Love’s nature calls out;
Surrender control;
Be courageous! Be strong
to right each wrong;
Start within.
Some time
before the biped thought
of history, he carved out image
of himself, and in the murky dawn
of consciousness, began to look around
to see just how he fit, and how it was
that he had come to be; he wiped the drool
from off his chin and then exclaimed prophetically,
"My God! I am alone out here. How can it be?"
And thus, his magnum opus, "Genesis"
(his first, obviously) appeared
beneath his stubby fist upon the stone,
a quasi-answer from his mallet
and the thought-begat Divinity,
and all the brethren cried, "Amen."
But they were faithless fellows
and a few millenia beyond,
Big Bang appeared, extruded from
the pangs of yet another womb—
happily dubbed intellect by some,
and leaving others
with their wounded vanities
to wonder what had taken place
before old Father Time
had set the fuse afire.
It could not have been desire;
a lonely God who needed
toys and subjects, will not wash,
and leaves us at the helm
without a helmsman...poor Adam
sputters, cries, and from his fire
before the cave removes a blackened stick
to mark his nascent words upon the wall,
enjoins his deity to silence
while he writes, "In nomine Patri...."
as the spirit and the son look on,
content awhile, to wait.
~
_________________________
THE “M” WORD
Oh miss of bliss I must confess that I find myself in magic with you
The kind of magic a flute makes when it sings a note that brings you back home
To where simplicity was the sanctity of sublimation
A naturally formed and most instinctual creation
That kindred kind of magic
The kind of magic an infant summons with his first solo step,
his first word,
and his very first fascination
The kind of magic in the wings of a fledgling sparrow as they lift him unto the place whereupon his mother birthed him to be
Amid the clouds and midst the majesty of flight
The kind of magic in joy that enjoins itself with a neon fueled force on a fourth of July sparkling night
Stars and darkness wrenched from the heart of twilight
The kind of magic that is brilliantly bright,
and blatantly beautiful delight
You are all these kinds of magic and more
And miss of bliss ‘tis thee I do adore
The kind of bliss you came to bless
And for that reason I really must confess
I find myself hopelessly and wholly in magic with you
I really do!
© 2012 copyright PHREEPOETREE…..~free cee!~
Oh, I can dream of you and toss and toss in my bed
And snap your crazy feelings with dizzying eagerness
And pump my ventricles for you in crimson red
Leaving me in a state of thorough helplessness
I wonder why I love you like mad
Why I love you like crazy and fall for you like this
Despite pulsating palpitations that make me glad
Wishing your red lips I could forever kiss
And never let you go
Much as reason enjoins me from you to run away
Far away to escape the love magnet I can’t forgo
But I kneel down and decide I should stay
Despite pangs of longing my heart feels
Demanding too much, exacting too high a price
As my heart in saner moments in confusion reels
Wishing for a second to enjoy a peace of mind slice
But your hold on me grows stronger and stronger
The more your magnet draws me closer and closer
Sweeping me off my feet longer and longer
Wondering if I can again afford to be a chooser
When in all probability I’m bereft of room to maneuver
Squeezed tighter and tighter
Till my love can only quiver and shiver
As prospects for our reunion grow brighter and brighter.