Long Expunge Poems
Long Expunge Poems. Below are the most popular long Expunge by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Expunge poems by poem length and keyword.
On lazy uneventful afternoons
I sometimes venture into the quiet haven
that is my occupied mind as if a voice
in the wilderness beckoned me there.
It's always my favorite place to go...
on a day in disarray to contemplate
and expunge impurities that swirl inside
my head. I would sit beneath a tree as I trap
myself in the undertow of reverie,
submerging in the depth of serene solitude.
I go woolgathering on certain afternoons
in the meadow of my mind, listening to
the wondrous cacophonies of nature.
How delightful the mellifluous sounds
of chirping birds? The rustling of leaves?
Myriad of memories I long laid to bed
would spring awake as soon as I close my eyes
My thoughts would swing like a pendulum
between the past and the future.
It's amazing how much the mind can hold!
A miscellany of thoughts would continue to rage
as I linger there lost in the arresting scenery,
taking in the invigorating zephyr; how it soothes
my skin! It's the most beautiful escape
from the chaotic here and now
On lazy uneventful afternoons
I oftentimes linger there in meditation,
reluctant to leave such a peaceful oblivion,
but I must. I always do with bright smile
as I open my eyes again to a peaceful world.
Date written: 07/11/2016
Here I stand. Early so that its dark enough to see the pretty yellow/white shining bright from car headlights – unblinking eyes; watching, waiting, worried. Drawing ever nearer. Complemented by the burning red from the rear of the cars at the opposite end. A warning signal. A timely reminder in the hope that I might be a little kinder.
Start early but late enough so that its light enough for someone to see what im doing for im not sure if a fall will result in my ruin.
But If it so happens that I do take that long awaited plunge will it expunge all that I have done. Those ills and evils inflicted on so many people.
Of course im hoping that a fall from this here height will do me in. Or better still before my bones become acquainted with the stone; the fear itself might do me in. Yes its thoughts like this that make me think im not quite ready for deaths cold kiss. A coward jumping scared in search of an unobtainable bliss.
At times ive stood out on the edge and peered down beyond my feet, staring hard at what I see; my mind convincing me that it is more than just concrete. I jump….
Yet im still here. Stood tall, stood small. An old and ghostly owl afraid to fly for fear of the fall, a fledgling starling with a will to win; having dreamt of flying high before I spread my wings. Yet im way too weak to wet my beak. My thoughts fly wild but I can barely speak.
Here I am. The highest heights. Atop this bridge. A troubled, torn and tired kite in need of one almighty fix. A stitch. A magic needle. Sticky tape to mend my tears. To stop my tears. To blind my eyes. A superglue with flowing cape. To help me fly. To make me strong. A man of steel. To make me feel what ive not felt for way too long.
I watch the sun rising over the distant horizon. A patient ascent. Banishing the night’s last black brushstrokes swept across the sky so brazen behind my back. A whispered lament. The blinding red and yellow dimmed and soon a fading flicker trying hard to hold my eye. The sun: painting over nights bleak canvas. No task as thankless. Specks of light flicked far. A blanket over self inflicted scars.
Warm, hopeful, kind. Softly burning all the darkness from my mind.
Until next time…
By what labyrinthine repetitions,
by what agile, precise divisions,
by what accretions, do we compile
a life's arcane hieroglyphs,
its subtle, unmathematic mysteries?
What cold calculus shall we yet invent
to construct the introspective model?
What distribution curve, what standard deviation,
shall predict the time remaining 'tll we exist
entirely in a universe of our own creation?
Shall we make of stars mere red-shifted
spectral lines on photographic plates?
Will heartache be reduced to sine waves,
mapped by styli on graduated rolls
revolving in precise concurrence
with computed average biologic rates?
Shall we expunge the record from the file,
shall we precipitate a system crash?
What key will be called escape and which restore?
What impulse may span the neural gap,
what synapsis presage what deity?
And will there be a world left to explore?
Will we stop to soliloquize?
What obeisance shall we require?
Piety is no mark of barren earth and rocks,
nor of sterile wind and raging fire.
Medical and/or scientific experts
doth now corroborate,
promulgate, validate...(wait
don't go there's much more)
linkedin with falsehood
that requires me to terminate,
an average dumb founded guy
(noir) tasked with rectifying
(with quiet riot) eek quate
absolute zero truthfulness humans
only use 10 percent
(or other small percentage)
brain power in (Jean) Nate,
or anybody else for that manner
("say hypothetically
gals named Kate)
which unfounded,
which urban cowboy legend
persisting in perpetuity, I hate
tubby the bearer
of unwelcome news
(doubling up and
down as a pernicious
cherished rumor squasher
boot nada one
reputable specialist studying
intellectual potential,
would unilaterally vouchsafe,
(and risk their judicious, marvelous,
and prestigious reputation,
which years to elevate),
yet such stubborn presumption
firmly maintained latched onto
(analogous to fish unknowingly
snagged with "FAKE" bait)
nonetheless specialists of the
(egg shaped) noggin
do attest in aggregate
that some n'er
do well (christened
Matthew Scott Harris)
did whimsically create
believable Trumpism,
which invalid conclusion
adopted to enervate
his own cognitive impairment,
thus motivating him
tubby poetically great,
and even though, he got told
afore stated said
baseless, groundless and/or
premise, aye intimate,
the sure fire way
to expunge (purge) nagging notion
(short of a karate
chop to his fountain
head of noodle,
which idea to in Tim mate,
would not rank as emphatic,
dramatic, and/or climatic,
as electric shock therapy
last ditch effort to operate.
Someone told me... "You look like you're going through the most..."
Was it that bad? I didn't realize it....
My frustrations, my anger... always tucked in... never present when it matters.
It seeks the light when it's already done... when I'm depleted, destroyed, delayed...
It sits quietly for fear of disturbance...
For fear of what it could mean...
But what if...?
What if it was the sanctuary?
The freedom
The upliftment
The change needed
The whip into shape
What if?
What if a let fear drift ceaselessly away?
Drip through me
Expunge out of me
I don't need fear
Fear needs me...
And I no longer want to be needed...
Of thee virtual netherland...
courtesy one spellbound wordsmith
within apartment b44
nestled within a manor
(and manner of writing)
atop nondescript Schwenksville highland.
All gibbets zing aside
I got noose for you,
yours truly enjoys harmless chide
ding even kibitizing about,
when cessation of consciousness occurs
leaving terrestrial plane
frequently incorporates divine spirit as guide
absolute zero escape
regarding death to override.
Oft times ('specially
these latter unsainted days and nights)
death doth haunt me atheistic zeitgeist
which thoughts of my demise
crowds out purposeful thinking
in the twitching mind kempf
paradigm of this atheist
hence, he betook himself
to this MacBook Pro,
while swiss side dull ideations
for professional intercession,
deadline could not wait
asper affecting s cathartic,
emetic, harmonic tete a tete
and providing a meaningful surrogate
to expunge morbid mental state
accessed Open Office
and let fingers (of left hand)
do talking heads
to an imaginary therapist
across this qwerty keyboard
allowing, enabling, and
at the quickest typing rate
striving to cap cha dismal, gloomy,
and ill lust tree us deplorable
mood aye equate
with pitching into
a bottomless abyss where pate
fed ceaseless diet of NON GMO –
a last repast
the grim reaper did orchestrate
gluten free, an extra heavy dose
of monosodium glutamate
which ingredient doth
BuzzFeed thine appetite
for total mortal exterminate
'thou no need fermi to rush,
where angels fear to tread,
cuz tis better late
than never, the apothegm,
credo, ethos...foreign ha Kate
the caterer maintains
an open exit from life,
and cares only
that each soul doth feel elan,
joie de vivre, and psalm times
a leaper chants, ecstatically finally
gustatory humming don't jubilate
for your final homecoming, or else
the mailer daemon lived
a devilish life will instigate
a de coup age d'etat,
but such extreme
measure for measure heed doth hate,
yet exceptions always made for a date
particularly when henchmen to die for
golden opportunity
to snatch a generic guy a create
an underground soiree will cease,
when ashes master
of hell raising circumstances
twill use as bait
let underground missionary be advocate.
The Christmas Purpose
By: Miracle Man
December 6, 2021
For fear of offending another, and starting a fray,
many don’t say Merry Christmas, but Happy Holiday.
A commercialized holiday often void of Christ’s name,
Leaving Jesus out of Christmas is a foolhardy game.
Jesus came, was virgin birthed, in a far away stable,
accomplishing for mankind what no other was able.
His earthly life was culminated at a forlorn cross,
making man opportunity to expunge all his dross.
Christmas has become a giving and merriment season,
too many have forgotten that Jesus is the reason.
Cold air whistles acquainting
me with Arctic Blast, when
roundly forcing acquiescing
into half foursquare corner, activating
most recent spate of
ideal linkedin warm weather
ah...,my favorite sweet
spot for read ding
partially secluded from
gossip mongers addicting
fellow nosy residents,
who rarely brave elements
of style lush nature addressing
natural environment, sans leaving
comfort of their hermetically
sealed apartment adhering
to zero risk exposure
even during pitch
perfect weather adjusting
cessation to renouncing
"cabin fever" administering
most potent panacea
for heavenly solar fling
nay, most every tenant
here at Highland Manor
prefers vicariously admiring
terrestrial flora and
fauna, even when nature
bursts forth with adoring
"The Rite of Spring" adorning
the snapchat buzz zee
flight of the Bumble Bee
the still frozen, yet slowly aerating
rib rock solid state terra
firmae slowly alleviating
thick slabs of iced over terrain
indiscriminately allocating
patch of landscape
legion limitless almsgiving
then as instagram dusk
preempts afternoon alternating
cathartic, fantastic,
and iambic anesthetizing
magic, opportunistic, and therapeutic
reverie blitzed, viz banshee screaming
mother nature's wound
dead spirit expressing
agony dost vent wrath
heartfelt lament vacillates, manifests,
and explodes analogous
qua red bull who readily
didst get smitten angling
to expunge anguishing
cumulative racking torment
hell bent on annihilating
primate responsible species
akin to a silent spring announcing
slow but inexorable annulling
guardian (nee abuser) role usurped
by *****sapiens,
who need answer
for relentlessly antagonizing
writhing, lowing, and bristling
Planet Earth!
A disturbance in the sand
betrayed their hide
and when prodded by a rake,
claws shot up
primed to latch onto
a careless finger or toe.
A big "bluey" had a fearsome
bite and seemed
to prefer to sacrifice a claw
rather than let go. Their grip
on the rake, though, was their
undoing, hanging on whilst
being lifted up then shaken
loose to fall helpless
into a floating tub.
By morning's end
the tub would be
a writhing fill of crabs
clawing to free themselves
from a hopeless fate.
It was a pathetic sight.
Hauled ashore, most
were still alive when Dad
and I got them home.
They wriggled and bubbled
in the damp bottom
of the metal tub.
I can remember the salty smell
of what I thought was fear
let out by their silent screams.
Their suffering seemed
too much to justify a feed.
Then I would think of Jesus
and the fish he caught
to expunge my childhood guilt.
Taken out and washed clean
they would be dropped
into a big iron pot and boiled
until they turned bright red,
the color of demons stoking
hellfire in a bible picture book.
Lord, help me to understand
why faith must always be blind.
And it was by your command;
that Jesus died for Mankind.
Let me feel that I am loved
despite my doubts; set them free.
And expunge my heart of sin;
if there's any hope for me.
Cut loose the chains that shackle
egos to the pride of Man.
And alter reality;
as the faithful say, You can.
Be my friend on this planet;
I want to get to know You.
It's hard for me to accept
what the Bible says is true.
Enter my heart as a flame,
and fuel that fire with love.
Let me experience faith;
so my soul can rise above.