Long Exactness Poems
Long Exactness Poems. Below are the most popular long Exactness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Exactness poems by poem length and keyword.
A picture I will paint
a story I will tell
and make it perfectly clear
exactly what I would have it be
lines drawn straight and hard
words that images show
misunderstanding cannot be
exactness is the key
planes with corners square
angles sharp that define
colors I will state
that I would have you see
sky of hummingbird blue
grasses of the emerald green
wind biting frigid cold
sharp sunlight spearing down
cinnamon fills the air
flowers are Jasmine’s and Rose
soft grasses tickle the feet
birds songs clear do sing
hot black ribbon of asphalt shown
mirages dancing in the heat
rumbles of roars far away
wind does ripple curled hair
no room to imagine
no sight for you to see
what images with in you are
there is no room to be
you will see what I would show
imagine not what you would see
my colors of red blue and green
not your favorites be
my scents you will smell
my favorites and everything
there is no room for you
your imagination lies dead
Ebony blackness of cold iron
hard strength of titanium be
winds that rip through tender flesh
sharp knife’s the cut the mind
of your thoughts I do not care
or of what you would see
your imagination I care not of
or of what you would see
somehow this cannot be
this I cannot be
these words I’ll never write
it is not what I would be
soft wonderings half spoke of
hints of sights unseen
leafs carried upon the breeze
to wherever you would be
I’ll let your imagination flow
your images fill your mind
what ever you would see
I’ll try to lead you there
A habitation hanging on a pole of love
circled by an orbit
of calm and tenderness.
Unto its walls;
purity and goodwill stick.
Floats on water and edged by the mountains
architectured by exotic plants.
Colour and beauty
mixed with the interplay of nature
as both the living and the inanimate
interact in ordered pattern and harmony
A place where time
has no definition
as so many todays
make up centuries
with nothing like yesterday or tomorrow.
It rains water in the morning
and in the evening, milk
with satisfaction and strength
the content of every marrow.
Everlasting joy;
you need not seek.
Bountiful kindness,
enjoyed even by a shadow.
Beautiful gardens and animals in diversity
forming a clique
as even the Lion's breast
becomes a succulent pillow.
Every being that breath becomes meek.
Unending peace
clinging unto you
like a lonely widow.
All in one simple existence
hardly to believe.
Is it the socialite and the geek?
Or the Eagle in dialogue
with the sparrow?
Are all rare happenings never to let go.
A land void of unpleasant states
where you can neither
find the weak nor the sick.
Equality and happiness is its constitution
with no one down graded to a minnow.
A site full of exactness and perfection,
a serenity edifying and accurate,
an atmosphere so complete and hundred percent.
Where in the world would this place be?
If not in my dream.
There was such beauty where I lived
Past landscape my father designed so long ago...
And I remember Mountain Street;
The sounds of early Summer all around the house..
The unencumbered freedom
And the taste of clear, pure water
Stolen from a neighbor's well hidden behind the windmill.
And just past your Poppa's verdant lawns
A gentle wildness was allowed.
He loved the earth
And let me wander as I would have anyway
Straight on those hidden paths I knew
Into my secret place..
I sat between the here and now
To watch the Summer's fullness edging closer;
Surrounded by my favorite friends:
The wild bluberry bushes.
My special place, alive and rambling on
In lush perfection for a lonely little girl
Covered with freckles.
My friends, covered with their sapphire treasures -
The size and weight which bore them down
Were offered as a gift to me;
Their color: electric blue and perfect...
We were great friends in all seasons..
And we made promises to each other
In the deepest heart of Summer,
Just before the last years of my childhood
And your Poppa's dreams...
They whispered of a great gift to be given
In a future where their time had passed.
I could hardly remember the exactness of the promise
Until I looked into your eyes when you were 2 days old.
Did you ever wonder, my beloved,
The joy in my recollection
Of the gift so sweetly promised,
And why I call you
Blueberry Eyes...
I love you, daughter mine.
Rights
Declaring that you can do a thing,
demanding that it go your way…
These are careless, and chaotic emotions,
placed on actions that have consequences.
Custody battles, divorce and time shared in the darkness of loss.
Broken dreams, battle grounds where the innocent are victims not by chance.
Families have roots like trees. Grafted branches grow and become one.
Lightening, harsh wild fires, mud slides and bitter colds, take the weak.
Those still left standing are thrilled to make it, to the next day.
To start again and rebuild what was someone else’s exactness to tear down.
Betrayal. You did this or that! We are going to do it the right way. My way!
The cost to decline beyond payment. We will soon be in the streets.
There is nothing to eat in the refrigerator. The cabinets are empty.
Applications for assistance have been made.
An odd shame is felt, for what reason, it is unclear.
The law says life is equal, well at least for some…not all.
No one cares the tears behind each word, written on white paper and stamped…twice.
No one can care as there are just too many…stamped at all.
The payment for your correctness, your perfection of life standards,
is the empty smiles of butchered memories in albums not acid free.
The poem below mirrors the tribute featured in the video (click the YouTube tab above to view). It was created by a dear friend — a poet, musician, and video artist — who walked through a very dark time and, through grace, found his way back.
The video is more than just a song — it’s a story of survival and soul. I encourage you to watch it all the way to the end and, if you feel moved, explore the YouTube comments — you may even recognize a few voices from this very community.
If you think it might help someone, consider sharing.
Sometimes, a single song can reach a person right when they need it most.
Divine Intervention
Not just words sent soaring to the sky
it’s a linking bridge between a soul’s quiet cry.
Resounding to places we are yet to see,
Carrying courage where it’s needed to be.
Affirmations don’t require ego’s exactness,
Whispered, or spoken aloud in respected reverence
Only love can break barriers to enter with grace,
On a sacred thread through the Cosmic Space
It shifts something deep within this spirit of mine.
It doesn't twist fate or dim the light that shines
‘Cause Intervention intercedes guiding The Sign
Inducing sense of purpose in The Grand Design
It fell upon
My neighbor’s house
Not mine.
I was dry the sky was soaking
Looking where the rain was falling
A sheet – no a wall of wet and
Me outside of it.
How?
How and why this demarcation,
This sharp exactness?
I put my hand - my left hand
Into the falling rain.
It did not get wet
Yet
The downpour grew stronger
Fell heaver and longer
And I still dry
Watching the falling curtain,
Uncertain
How this could be
Happening?
I called to my dog
To come outside
To look to see.
She looked and stopped
Wagging its tail.
Then thunder clapped its ears,
She ran inside under the
coffee table.
Thunder stuck me also
The rain had fallen upon us
A great ocean of it
Just on us.
Has this happened before?
I had to wonder a lot.
Back indoors
Both damp and drying
I think I overheard God laughing.
In his school years
he was good at naming things.
Trees, minerals, the anatomy of rabbits,
butterflies and all things
he saw or imagined he saw.
Later…much later,
He realized he knew nothing of anything
that walked the earth or grew upon it
or flew above it.
Later still, his internal organs
began to name him. Bushes and flowers
named him as he walked by.
Birds called out his various names,
his species and sub-species,
the Latin nomenclature,
the exactness of his being.
He heard all this naming
through an open window in his head
that could not stop reflecting thoughts
back to him.
As most seekers do
he sought the advice of a guru.
“Your mother did not love you
not just the way you wanted her to love you,
and so you had to name
all that she was not.
“What!’ he said,
is that your only answer!
“I could name a thousand more,”
the guru replied,
“but you have already named them,
and so they in turn named you.
Now you are caught,
pinned like a moth to a display board…
go now and un-name yourself!”
He thanked the guru,
hesitated,
then foolishly he asked the wise man -
for his name?
I wonder about me sometimes.
Elusive yet full of potential.
The very essence of life as we know it.
We could be an ocean if we wanted,
Yet enjoy our individuality down to the last
drop of water.
Always living by "It is what is"
but never test our resolve
for even in death we'll be loving long.
I understand him completely.
He is my reflection
and the hardest of lessons
Why I am, the way that I am.
I get it son.
We carry ourselves like we don't have time,
but relish the exactness of war's totality.
So don't instigate
our faces don't camouflage well.
Almost like polar opposites
wanting to remain untouched
because when moved
every piece in heaven
and every point on earth
will feel it.
Rushing like a flood or tranquil as a pond,
every molecule of our mind reverberates
with creativity
rippling across eternity
undulating God's will.
Now, I'm back to I don't know
With a mind that won't be still.
Our differences are like the pieces of a puzzle called life.
Are two beings of any species perfectly the same?
Could the resemblance of a thing be its exactness too?
Isn't each creature a mini-universe in itself?
Each, by way of life, seems as though caged in a common zoo.
Like lions in dominance; the camouflage of a tiger;
Restless enthusiasm of monkeys; calmness of cattle;
Like birds of the air, with aspirations to fly higher
Each moment of our daily existence is a battle.
Though, like dolphins, we care, like crabs, we pull each other's legs.
Like good craftsmen, we construct; like bad ones, we destruct
In solving puzzles, we put in the same box all our eggs.
With strangers the keys to our own homes, we gladly entrust
From birth until the end of life, this puzzle continues.
In peacefully passing through this puzzle lies life's perfect muse.
Ancients’ cognizance of Circles “all be it” acquired
knowledge...understood through expression
moving heaven to earth, hither to yon...
questions posited unceasingly, opposing thots
same side of incontrovertible proof felt not seen...
women sang songs reigning from the heavens
regaling self and others bequeathed with stirrings
internal knowing, sounds chime of longing
women dancing, circling round and round
star’s patterned exactness...reflecting heaven...
movement roused by passion...prevailing wisdom
carried forth by cellular division of another type,
we don’t altogether call to mind why...
impending assembled structures of activation appear
Circles of old, Circles of new...always replying
marking me, marking you...will you join me in this
now new, Circling lives forever within you!