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.
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!
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
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.
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?
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.
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.
The male of the black widow spider species
offers its head to be eaten
by the lager female arachnid.
Is this sex, love, or blind instinct?
We need a different mind-set
a new understanding.
Some say Nature is perfect,
some consider it flawed, brutal,
red in paw and claw.
Only a bad dream could be this horrific,
only a good dream is aware that it is dreaming.
The exactness of the spider web
could only be the work of an impeccable design,
an image of a reality proffered up
not to confound, but to awaken,
the male and female spider seem to know this,
all be it instinctual, yet naturally beneficial
to these unquestioning creatures.
We should all pay attention,
for a dream within a dream is still a dream.
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.
—Insignificancy Crowned—
Morning comes; I raise the vanitascope—
Dust drifts where light refuses instruction.
I lean in; distance folds. Closeness pretends.
Air resists; I accuse.
Shadows gather. I baptize them.
A mark appears; nothing further.
Exactness devours edges.
Attention thickens. Mercy dies.
Sound repeats, stubborn.
I follow. Beyond reason. Beyond care.
Hardness calls itself diligence.
The rose breathes, uncorrected, mocking.
I touch; tyranny rises—
No crown, no empire, only insistence.
Time moves.
Nothing waits. Nothing falters.
Vast persists; I fail to see.
Motes hover. Flaws remain.
Life stretches beyond grasp,
Unobserved, precise, inevitable.
I step aside—not wiser, only absent.
The world endures.
Because my vanitascope observed too much.
My Best Friend
Carries a great load around.
I can see it in her eyes, her stance…
Sometimes I hear it just beyond the words,
she speaks to me…
Between the “all is fine” and “things are great”,
There is something, a taste of exactness,
in a recipe with too many spices.
You dart and dodge and I gain pieces,
Sliced off from the darkness at the edges.
You are prayed for every night.
In the morning…
I speak your name among the angels,
that gather in the garden outside.
Ever we feed the birds that come by.
Ever we feed the fish that swim in the circle,
free as they know it.
I am here, I am here, not anywhere else.
Speak as you can, it does not matter,
I am listening…
and so is HE!