Long Expending Poems
Long Expending Poems. Below are the most popular long Expending by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Expending poems by poem length and keyword.
Poetic Science
The Universe is expending those who know this say
(My waist size too,) is expanding but has a natural limit
which the Universe doesn’t have.
I have difficulty understanding the limitless where is
the Universe expanding to, what free space does it
occupies; as the endless is ungraspable.
I wish the Universe would shrink a little bit enough
for me to see that somewhere there is a border
but not further into nothingness.
If the Universe is expanding, it must also be timeless
and abstract as it doesn’t exist in any time frame
God must be an invention to stop us from disappearing.
The space beyond nothingness is oblivion it can
therefore, not exist as it has no space, and no stars
and is a question of a dream not remembered.
Ever climbed a ladder
To see what’s on top ?.
To fix something up
To see what’s what ?
Expending so much energy
As you make your climb
Using up resources
Using up your time ?.
Not sure why you’re climbing
What’s there when you arrive
You’ve been told when you get there
“You’ll know that you’re alive”.
You finally hit the roof
And survey what you see
Because you have arrived
To the top of that tree.
“It’s not what I thought”
I can hear you say
“Did I climb the right ladder
Why do I feel betrayed ?”
The key to climbing ladders
What makes you gratified
Is not “which ladder should I climb”,
The answer is in the “why ?”.
Pre-puberty years
Playful innocence
Warm ready embrace
Quarrels, aberrations
Rapidly erased
An uncluttered mind
Open, forgiving heart
Reborn each morn anew
Growing up, ego manifests
Taught to be street smart
Testosterone levels high
Feral instincts prevail
In the game of one-upmanship
Need to win our obsession
Heart shrouded in darkness
Conscience whispers in dreams
Upon expending our energy
Recognising earth life transience
We look at dark thought spirals
A Frankenstein we created
Remorseless devouring our soul
We are astonished and dismayed
Looking at these sunken vibrations
We have chosen to stagnate in
To erase negativity from its roots
We stop the flow of turbid thoughts
By shifting our attention inwards
Into the hidden recesses of our heart
In time stretched stillness and silence
Negating the oscillations that surface
Until we become a rippleless lake
Choosing to remain for eternity thus
In timeless time, the false falls away
Fulcrum of our consciousness, space
Our mind-body now an empty shell
Cleansed of erst ego borne dark stains
Reveals from deep within our heart
Our true self shining, bubbling with bliss
Magnetised by the healing light divine
Suffusing all nodes with ecstatic rapture
Boundaries blur between others and us
We feel underlying interconnectedness
Recognising in time that love alone real
All other vibrations but thought constructs
Entrapping our attention in myriad illusions
Plunging our consciousness in delusion
Thus we meld head with heart and love
Twice born here now in the flesh, erect
Earth dream life yet plays on in as ordained
We enact our role in resonation with love
Our vaporised self is immune from harm
Simply because there is no identity within
That that is, is a bliss mist, a living light
Empowered by the sublime breath of God
Thus we inhale vital life force with gratitude
With exhalation in simplistic childlike surrender
16-October-2021
I Netted Mosquito Magic ™
(near microscopic totally tubular proboscis
gave one local bummer, a bloody respite this
summer, hence....aye goot good wry min
reason tubby a tuneful hummer.)
No sooner than getting
weltanschauung after getting bit
from female blood-sucking insect,
(which critters actually
considered little lord of the flies
comprise family culicidae)
a most amazing
extraordinaire inoculated me
with short lived surprise talent,
which got this
American male infected
with three hundred seconds
of super human impeccable skill
short-lived feat found
body, mind or spirit
capable to transcend natural
limits of usual abilities,
infusing this ordinary guy
with an unpredictable
supreme titillating, stupefying,
resounding, hair-raising, glorifying,
fleeting, entertaining,
daunting, catapulting, bedazzling,
amazing stints possessing,
thy being from invisible source
thence when expending said
burst of tremendous spurt,
per awesome bout of mental,
physical or spiritual bags of tricks
eclipsing mortal prowess
with stratospheric wow
fear less factor
ultimate fatigue found
this bloke supine
and unable to summon forth
one iota of strength.
WoodStock - Fifty Years Ago August 15-19, 2019
I knew nary a whit about
rock n roll history
soon to unfold August fifteen –
eighteen ninety sixty nine
mollycoddled, nestled,
obliviously preoccupied
bajillion miles away
attending Baker Park Day Camp
within Phoenixville, Pennsylvania
innocently naive shy lad
hidebound, yours truly
to prefer tried and true familiar turf
quite limited radius
circumscribed physical world,
yes quite sheltered proximity, where
birth family resided
324 Level Road Collegeville
outward bound sphere
comprised safe circumference
nsync within unhealthy insecurity
arising, whereabouts arbitrarily
drawn circle defined mine safe haven
hence, ignorance prevailed
encompassing world at large,
hence bajillion miles distant
Max Yasgur's 601 acre (2.4 km²)
dairy farm in the town
of Bethel, New York,
asper outside realm consciousness
pertaining to yours truly
absolute zero awareness,
where stripling, (and stripped bare) youths,
some approximately twice my age
immersed themselves into
unforgettable experiences of lifetime,
which Woodstock Music, and Art
rock music festival teases
fanciful overactive imagination
speculating buzzfeeding aural
oral, nasal, tactile, visual... senses
ruing, lamenting, bemoaning...
owning cowardly risk averse
demeanor shielding self
against bazaar panoply
augmenting exposure inviting
bizarre phenomena,
versus being tethered
predictably within familiar bubblicious
range umbilical cord (albeit figurative)
linkedin (courtesy known environment)
allowing, enabling, and providing regret
(benefit of 20/20 hindsight)
to tweezer what if...scenario
transcending comfort zone,
which looming fear of unknown
hogtied opportunity to sample novel
adventures (as opposed to reading
such tales of daring do sequestered
as avid bookworm) expending hours
as quiet natured kid (rarely heard or seen),
and reading still predominant passion
providing passive access, now
finding me remonstrating the detriment
against exhibiting proactive modus operandi.
This Poor Man's Pipe Dream
no..no...no...DONT GET CLOSE
cuz, yea...yea...
yea...I suppose
emailing would be
the safest lagniappe bet,
where nill expose
sure would moost
likely NOT infect thee,
though these really
quirky, phony (funny) germs
can be inhaled a
cross transmission wires
thru the nose
or data packets
bounced off satellites as
telecommunications
specialists knows
while (and/or) even if
all precautions taken
even extreme measures
such as cryogenics,
(where an individual
ideally after they die)
doth get froze,
nonetheless this communique
must be heeded,
cuz most effective,
and best assimilated
before one takes a doze
essentially (non fatal)
lottery mania flows
within my entire being
from head to
fungus infected toes
whar this old rattletrap
spews castles in the air
akin to a house of cards career
ring into scattered mess
(resembling 52 pickup),
thus unknown reader
dune hot dare
casinos, gambling halls,
horse racing, et cetera
lest ye contract
an immobilizing, yet fear
lee innocuous diagnosis,
asper in do sing glare
ring bug eyes,
plus affecting a hair
reed styled, and swiftly tailored
demeanor accompanied
with Scrooge (tiny lee)
intimating lurch
ching, and ogling
qua monopolistic greed
expending every last
red cent indeed
finding one
impoverishing themselves
at light speed!
Alas ample alliteration available?!
True (terrific) title: Trump's truckling tutored troopers...;
wily word wizard worried,
where world wide web wickedly wends.
Triumphantly tenaciously (try to) trample treacly
traffickers target timid testifiers traducing,
their traitorous tractable toxic troglodyte:
today transition toward
totalitarianism tidily trends.
Quasimoto (querulously) queries, quivers, quakes:
queasiness quotient quarantine quelled qualm;
qua quacking quaffing quota quips:
quicksand quits quagmire quashing:
quintessential quarrelsome;
quintillionth queued questioner.
Numbskull noodles notorious nonsense:
nincompoop netizen nimbly navigates;
nowadays nauseating news necessitates
nameless nervous negativistic nattering nabob;
Nome nomad nudges, numerates,
nurtures... narcolepsy.
Knowledgeable knave; kindhearted
keen, kooky kvetching king kibitzer;
kindles kickass kinskip (kaffeeklatsch);
kneading Keats kinfolk karma.
His highness, herewith hooligan;
helpmate hermit hamstrung Harmit Harms;
humiliating, harried, ho hum humorous hokum;
habitual half hearted hookers happily hollow;
hallelujah!
Exceptional exertion earnest endeavor exercising
especial expending energy excluding essential/
exact entities even everyday eminent eccentric
experienced exhaustion - epilogue.
The apricot sunlight of an early fall afternoon
caresses an empty picnic table.
A still pine forest exhales,
expending its essence on the rising moon.
Walkers warm in fleece pace,
each stride distressing the fallen needles,
and the wayward squirrel nut in cheek.
Geese attend the lake’s edge,
their arched necks appearing to question
each wayward breeze which disturbs
the still waters of the pond.
The playground now empty
of its wiggling little ones, sighs forlornly,
as its chains are aired in a whistle-like concord.
So, the day ends at the golden hour, peacefully,
awaiting the turning of the maples leafs.
*The fine line is between the end of summer and the beginning of fall.
The only ounce of energy I'll be expending today
is having picked up a pen to scrawl these lines...
"I have declared this to be Dolce Far Niente Day."
Enjoying the sweet life, doing nothing by design.
I'll be spending time as I desire lazing in a chaise,
pretending I'm vacationing in the hills of Tuscany
whose orchards are heavy with grapes I must praise
for the mellow flavor of the fine wine offered me.
I will indulge myself enjoying their sweet bouquet,
malingering while listening to Chopin's Polonaise.
It's my intent to hold an annual Dole Far Niente Day
and have it last 'til stars ignite the night sky ablaze.
I will enjoy pampering myself with nothing more to do
but gaze on the clear blue waters of the Ligurian Sea.
Nothing will be hampering my idle nor twist it askew,
for I'll pay no heed to misgivings while in this reverie.
No more writing for I've taken good measure this day.
Pool waters are calling me, where I'll float peacefully
as twilight darkens. I'll take pleasure as I gently sway
in a hammock, content to stare at the moon dreamily.
I wish for quietude,
like waves lapping at shells along the beach,
occasionally reaching further up the sand,
nudging their neighbours' carapaces,
but mostly slipping back empty-handed.
I wish for cleansing.
To be washed beneath breaking surf,
to feel the white fury of a wave
crash over my head,
then claw past heels and naked soles.
I wish to be stirred and rocked;
half cradled towards sleep by the swell,
half shaken awake by its sudden lift,
to feel the sea shoulder my weight,
then remind me nothing stays still.
I wish for the trough between waves.
To hold my thoughts in its brief hollow—
keep what still rings true; and let the rest sink.
To lie there in that borrowed lull,
knowing the next wave is already coming.
I wish for waves to greet me by waving hello.
Then watch the same open hands wave goodbye.
Each arrival carrying its departure.
Each farewell curling towards another hello.
I wish to hear and feel the language of waves—
the crash becoming hiss.
Then the hiss becomes a whisper trailing foam.
Every wave speaking the same old sentence,
and yet, somehow never saying it twice.
The far-off roar still trembling in my chest.
I wish to feel unsettled, ankle-deep in their surge,
as waves rush ashore and spend themselves.
Each one dragging at my shins, daring me to fall.
Each retreat sucking sand from beneath my soles,
until standing steady feels strangely like falling,
my body relearning how to balance.
I wish to learn surrender from waves pounding ashore—
the swell shouldering upward, curling, toppling,
breaking its whole being without restraint,
holding nothing back, hoarding nothing.
Expending itself in one thunderous roar,
relishing the moment it breaks.
I wish for all these gifts of waves—
quietude, cleansing, courage and comfort;
the strength to arrive and the grace to retreat—
to ask no more of life than waves ask of sand on shore.
to arrive with everything I bear,
then leave open-handed, again and again,
gathering myself each time,
for the next returning surge and swell.