Long Envisage Poems
Long Envisage Poems. Below are the most popular long Envisage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Envisage poems by poem length and keyword.
Anticlimactic mood after February 18th, 2021 snow storm subsided
I hate spoiler alert
regarding weather forecasters prediction,
especially when meteorologist
wannabe spouse doth blurt
out impending blizzard
which never materializes.
Yours truly humbled and enamored
when Mother Nature
singly and/or nsync with old man winter
looses propensity to wreak havoc
and/or blankets landscape
I fondly think back
remembering '96 storm of the century.
At that time January 1996
me and the missus timesharing
Shawnee on the Delaware
ardently striving, yet
unsuccessful conceiving Blizzard Baby.
Now far beyond procreative age,
(though I wistfully envisage
begetting another progeny -
simultaneously stretching credulity
to breaking point)
all things considered
exhaustion would peter out
after capitulation of divining rod
necessitating lifetime to recoup energy.
Bound within figurative four walls
of Schwenksville, Pennsylvania domicile
courtesy appreciable snowfall,
I direct energy crafting poem.
Yours truly will actually
refrain comestibles despite feeling hungry -
lest metabolism to digest food
decreases potential alertness,
and full belly finds me
ready able and willing
to doze immediately into deep slumber.
Hungry stomach in tandem
with eventful weather
sends surge of giddiness
coursing thru body electric
crackling, popping, and snapping
(while O Captain My Captain)
came to witty man (me) suddenly
enervating with poignant pregnant expectancy
papa pondering his empty nest syndrome
analogously attempting to offset void
coaxing poem into existence
unsure how literary endeavor
(mine) will thrive
amidst well suited
panoply of prolific writers,
whose unseen fingers
hop lightly and gracefully
across qwerty computer keyboard
akin to heavy armed soldiers
with fearlessness and deliberation
heading off to war to acquire poetic license.
Meanwhile chafed knuckles
of one garden variety primate
previously scraping along tundra
(methinks I espy frozen Mastodon)
(before twenty first century caveman
learned to stand erect)
endeavors to strike letter combinations
eliciting, facilitating, and generating
enticing curb appeal.
When a child if gifted with a book it transforms into a key to unlock the mind. The gate to the secret garden of imagination is pried from its forgiving hinges and the child is free to expand their imagination to galaxy proportions.
The simple pages of a book provide a passport for a passenger seat next to the likes of Captain Biggles in his Tibetan adventures to locate the forbidden city of Shangri Lah, or a magical flight to Neverland with Pan and the lost boys. Who knows how each “child’s mind’s eye will envisage the loathsome creature that is Mr Hyde or the demure Dr Jekyll?
It captures the heart of a parent to witness their young boy, lying on his bed, engrossed in the pages of Stevenson’s Kidnapped. His imaginings transform him into the character of David Balfour, fighting alongside the Jacobite rebel, Alan Stewart. Such a comforting vision is a young girl, lounging on the couch on a rain soaked winters afternoon, fanning through a copy of Anne of Green Gables, engrossed in the character of Anne Shirley, wishing to emulate her outgoing spirit and giving nature.
The abundant bread basket of literary expositions act as a conduit, unlocking a child’s ability to make judgements about morality, injustices and an understanding of consequences in decision making. All the while the simple act of quietly reading procures an incalculable and surreptitious response to education for a lifetime to come.
The nostalgic aroma of floral vanilla and almonds that emit from the pages of an old book invokes a sense of anticipation to the imaginary adventures about to be embarked upon, creating an atmosphere of ambivalence.
An implore to parents across the globe to leave the television set and so-called social media, bombarding a child’s mind like a tidal wave, leaving in its wake a desolate landscape of nothingness. Embrace the tactile feel of pages in hand, gently stroking the mind, embedding feelings of, wonder and imagination. Read to your children every day and encourage them to jamb their noses into literary masterpieces from the likes of Stevenson, Doyle, Dickens and many more worthy exponents that have stood the test of time.
Thinking of the bay that daily gush
From our ray on this lengthy voyage.
This at first wasn't envisage to be created,
For our calculator has failed us in haste.
Yes in haste it has failed us.
Despite the mountains of conferences and aluta,
Which has taken ocean from our skin.
In smart cerebral, they lay us still in their cave.
Not that warning hasn't been placed on us.
Yet in anticipation for liberation, our drums made close.
Ominira inira, ominira inira.
Was the statement that could have stopped us,
In falling prey of their menace.
October first I hail you and celebrate your wisdom.
Through ages and generations we shall sing your praise.
How have you come to place this yoke on our neck?
You're curse in all the days of the year.
Oh you're bless in realisation of our foolishness.
Thank you for making us to know our doom.
Foetus wey come out with pupu no go be person.
Na blood dem go be for dem no wait for their period.
To hell with those that have made this call for us.
Not for our good, but for their belly in praise.
We sing their praise, yes we will daily sing.
That no sooner than their Masters left,
That their missions clearly known.
The essence of Reformation was laid to rest.
After the birth of oloibiri our glory slain.
Now like handicaps we depend on our neighbours.
Yes we're handicaps, yet in wealth our loan daily grows.
Greatly dear Divine
On you our hope and the generations to come do lay.
You own the heart of Kings and chiefs
And control same to your satisfaction.
We pray you to touch our hearts and our leaders.
For in this lane we're, our Jesus may come soon.
Make for us leaders that will obey you.
Not as those in 2015 that deceit is their clothes.
Hope we thought they'd give but blames they through.
We've done this, yes we've done it.
Aso ko ba omoye mo, omoye tirin roro woja.
We have done this, yes we know our wrong
Our hope is In for total liberation from this slavery
Before we become Samaria of this generation.
© olorunleke olorode.
Predator drone recording:- 6.00am
The dawn sky dramatic
Multi-coloured in rainbow array
Mutating flares of crimson reds
One portent Wednesday.
Overhead the predator drone motionless
Metallic silver it's planed wings
and tip pointed nose
Alarming to view it's presence
Though reassuring to see it remain
As alien activity increases
In newsworthy reports of the same
Covert surveillance monitoring
Is commonly known
Also equipped with combative technology
Has this futuristic drone
The troubled nations looked skywards
From parliament offices, homes and schools
No communication has been received or ventured
As a stalemate seems to prevail
At 6.30 pm on Thursday
A bombardment of ferocious intensity
Annihilated a mountain range
Within 30 seconds as dust cleared
The landscape now had changed
Once where there were mountains
Only a rising mushroom cloud
Panic was endemic
As satellite news worldwide spread.
Communities in the vicinity
Had collapsing buildings
and the people laying injured or dead.
Countless areas were targeted
Cities razed to the ground
People as headless chickens
Madness crazed were hunted down.
Total annihilation of the human race
Was the aliens only goal
Governments faltered and fell
Young destined to never grow old.
The authoritarian levels of society
In bunkers down did go
As the skyscrapers monopolise
stood as gravestones over the
crowded inhabitants below.
No help could be alerted
from the defence forces,
ambulance or police
People decided to die in their homes
With loved ones silent in their grief
The old order had been toppled
No-one could envisage the end
Then, Monday at 5.00 am
An ear piercing whistling
continued without restrain
Ear drums were shattered
No-one could withstand the pain
Making everyone left suicidal
that was the alien's game.
They entered the Earth's stratosphere
at midnight on Saturday
But there was no human civilisation
No-one left to positively say.
When all the Earth's a bed & all the world's asleep,
When you dream of conquering the world,then shove away the thought & let the unheard alarm go beep, because obviously,big dreams require longer sleep,
When you dim your lights despite the birds chirping outside,
When you concur that sleeping beauty was a beauty obviously because of getting years of beauty sleep, you need it too..
But you refuse to give in,
Till the last receptor of ur brain percepts the last signal,
Till the last lash of your eye meets the eyelid,
Till the last words of the text start appearing hazy,
You won't give in..
Then,you're more than just a student,my friend..
You're much more..
You're the HEROINE of your life.
When all the forces in the universe act like a stimulus to put you to bed,
When the sunrays feel like a burden to your eyes ,& they feel heavy
When you can envisage the cozy embrace of your blanket during the cold,
And that's not all..when that pleasant romantic weather outside is not a reason enough for you to get out of your bed,
But you refuse to give in,
Till the scent of spring justt fails to tempt you,
Till your last temptation can be suppressed,
Till the vigour inside you is still alive,
You won't give in..
Then,you're more than just a student,my friend
You're much more..
You're the heroine of your life.
When the noises around don't matter,
When the constant parental nagging won't bother,
When you refuse all your friends urging you to party,because (let's face it)..people are temporary,sleep is permanent.
When it hurts because your sleep is in a relationship with everyone else but you,you feel jealous..
But you refuse to give in,
Till you're conscious enough to not fall into the toilet,
Till you can hold yourself a stabilised position,
Till you can convince yourself that coffee will help,although it doesn't..
You refuse to give in..
Then you're more than just a student,my friend
You're much more..
You're the heroine of your life.
The more I read about pioneer women in particular,
The more I see from afar,
About how high they set the bar,
For those who find them bazaar,
While driving their car.
For most of these daring women young and old,
About whom few stories are told,
Yet we need their stories to unfold,
Even from a broken mold,
For the modern generation to behold,
As their unflinching dedication to the prize they wanted to hold,
Is something we should not withhold.
There was purpose in every step they took,
And for no free ride did they look,
As passion and Love of the work they wanted to book,
Was what drove them to do more than just cook.
Yet throughout the whole ordeal,
To secure for themselves a square deal,
They never from the bottom of the deck sought to deal,
And competing with men was not a natural feel,
As passion and love for the work was their only feel,
Never did they envisage a world that can only seal,
A fifty fifty deal,
That gives those without passion and love for what is real,
A way forward that may not make them feel,
That they are are working for anything more than their next meal.
It is my hope that the more we learn about pioneer women in particular,
The more we will be asking each woman in particular,
In what direction they see themselves going far,
And the only thing they should be told,
Is that opportunities abound when passion and love take hold,
And regardless of which work they behold,
That fits their mold,
They will be welcomed into the fold,
For fitting square pegs into round holes will only put equality on hold,
Fifty fifty deals were never meant to stay to become old,
As it is on equal opportunity that we should be sold,
With passion and love of the work what we want to behold,
If we want an economy that is bold,
So we can all grow old,
Knowing that pioneer women in particular,
Taught us how to go far,
With passion and Love in hearts that are fair.
Battery (for Hyundai Sonata) Needed Today
Frugality worn by fiat generated
by alternate fickle finger of fate,
the plus side being said vehicle
parked here in public Salem's lot,
where I live with said diabolical mate
at highland manor apartments
penury run me underground in potter's
grave adversity doth unfortunately accelerate
curse to finance repairs of titled automobile,
more'n six months ago plus of late,
where saving impossible mission more
difficult than resurrecting the dead
even an atheist (like me) could activate,
thus this poet blithely doth adumbrate
posthumous renown much more likely than
mine corporel flesh (a complex conglomerate
edifice), essentially if present automotive
woe continues, one beastie boy aggregate,
oven ironic steely dan sing nature
unstoppable trooper, respectable,
and likeable rubber re: soul apostate
ascending, bridging, and
crossing unscheduled airdate
not set, whirling wide arms akimbo
webbed spirit world whose
self worth did depreciate,
this future disembodied
essence death will alleviate
he can deliberately leverage,
imagine, and envisage, I do articulate
mean, kickstartering (ill) luck knowing
postage overdue, I anticipate
outstanding debts unpaid
monies ash should urn
at grave robber's rate
within an eternity and
credit debits to eliminate
delay getting transported
into another dimension
NO colorful bedecked Apartheid
of time space, nonetheless
perhaps choosing reincarnate
entity formerly matter
of Matthew Scott Harris
doth unconsciously assimilate
painlessly whatsapp pining
for xfinity (away off into
verizon) accommodate
ting with easy equipoise no
difficulty to assimilate
linkedin with alternate
universe, where "FAKE" prelate
will presidentially usher
trumpet, shutterfly, annunciate
one successful Earthly gadfly,
donning imprimatur to communicate
with bone a fide skull fullness!
Structure
I’ve got an old fashioned heart and my soul is still dreaming.
I’m not a wise man, but I do have wisdom.
I’ve got an immature head on bones that are slowly breaking.
My body aches, my tired eyes fail
And my memories have all been long forgotten.
If life is a clock-face, I am not yet at six,
But my heart has gone on past eleven o'clock;
I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.
I raise my spirits up and once more venture into my destiny.
Time is a non-entity in a world of possibilities.
Dreams come and go, as do the years that fly on past.
No longer a child, I am a man; there is no turning back.
The clock is still ticking, counting sands;
My lack of ambition is a steak through the heart of all my plans.
Hopes and wishes are only ever fantasies.
Back to reality with a bump, I am still falling, but enough about me…
I hope you are simply splendid! Anything less is not worthy.
You deserve only the best of my kindest of wishes
And I hope you find in your vocabulary,
The words to tell me what you envisage,
So I can try to move mountains for you in all of my dreams.
Let it be so; what do you need?
Ask me for anything.
This vessel is your tool to build a great wonder of your choosing.
Great literature shall be written about the future we are building.
One stepping stone at a time, there are paths beneath the waves.
We can make dreams come true here;
Together we will find a way.
Great towers shall stand, fires atop them, burning high into the night.
All people will travel to see your wonder that we will bring to life.
From small seeds great oaks shall rise
And your vision they will find,
As they walk out of the desert and marvel at your creation.
It will be a perfectly perfect personification.
Our hands are the missing link,
Your theory is a string;
Let me be the bow to your violin.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
BEYOND ME
The latter part of twenty twenty was promising
with the Corona vaccine, that I was looking
forward with twenty twenty one, anticipating
slowing down of the pandemic will be happening.
Can I ever imagine that fifteen members
of my family in the last two weeks of December
became positive with the Corona virus?
Can I ever think that Christmas Eve
would be spent worrying what would happen
to my brother, who was taken to the hospital?
Can I ever conceive that five more members
of my family in the first eleven days of January
became positive with this virus also?
Can I visualize three out of the five would be
in the hospital and one, my niece would not
make it and we could never see her again alive?
Can I ever envisage my niece passing away
on the sixteenth of January and my brother,
who was in the hospital for twenty five days,
dying the next day, seventeenth of January,
never to talk to him again nor see him again?
Can I ever imagine, think, conceive, visualize,
envisage these circumstances happening within
a month, from eighteenth of December through
seventeenth of January, no, no, no, never!
I never imagined, thought, conceived, visualized,
nor envisaged my mother, my four brothers,
two sisters, three sisters-in-law, four nieces,
two nephews, a grandniece and three others
in the family in six different households
contracting the virus in twenty five days.
Never did I imagine, losing my brother
and my niece and not having a chance
to see, touch, hug them and say goodbye.
I cannot understand, I cannot comprehend
everything that happened. I am numbed.
Everything was beyond by understanding.
Everything was beyond my comprehension.
I’m still in a dazed, everything beyond me.
1/23/21 Can You Imagine - Any Form Poetry
Constance La France
Grammar Checked (PS - Grammar Checker)
learned nothing from the past
by faces drawn in a smile
we're spinning over it like on a carousel
and again, each time it makes us vomit, we remain stunned
we're leisurely starting to resemble like hamsters
cramming into our gob more than we can handle
ignoring reality frantically spinning in that wheel
now
the stores are closed
playgrounds are enclosed
how little did we appreciate small things
by social distance
desolate supermarket shelves
and respirators reserved for the younger ones
they have put a price tags on seniors' heads
(thank you for your service)
it is defeating that online shopping holds lessons from morality
(thank you amazon and eBay)
it is defeating that without us our home is healing, rebuilding
(I'm sorry mother for I have sinned)
order to keep our social distance at 2m
revealed all the distances in our personal spaces
(the dead are always giving the lecture to the living ones:
regret is a measure of life)
we will survive medically
but socially
we all live our choices
putting on a mask as an escape from death
made us envisage
that piece of fabric is a metaphor
for words left unspoken
for words that shouldn't have been spoken
for smiles which didn't have the weight
for smiles hidden from aerosol
(life is reduced to breathing)
governments are screaming:
this is reality
this is reality
every now and then a new projection flashes in cyberspace:
it's Chinese
it's American
(Americans blame the Chinese, Iranians blame the Americans: During that Russian roulette, Italy got shot)
it's G5
it 's micro-chipping
it's nature
it escaped
it is here
I can see how paths of our society bifurcate
(it's almost palpable)
will we choose a rightful trajectory
or
pave the way for some new prejudices,
some new conflicts