Long Extrapolate Poems
Long Extrapolate Poems. Below are the most popular long Extrapolate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Extrapolate poems by poem length and keyword.
There are terms humanity uses, phrases words appear."
To communicate emotions, in aim of clarity, or to help
Verbally in communicating our anxiety, or sense of honour
Even anger, love or fear.' Some terms are formed generically.' Yet others are forged and planned.' To strike
At the spirit, heart and souls of 'right thinking women and
Man' the word ( elites ) is being used to describe indeed
The dregs..' its as dis-informative in the context and concept
Indeed its correction ' must get now on its legs' to
Highlight those of repulsive ways..Who glorify abuse who
Plan nightmares today.' Who facilitate urusry murder and
Greed, who co-opt and co-erce for the basest of needs who
To be validated are willing to do the vilest' the dirtiest things.)
Scum could do.' I find no word low enough.! No term that
Will match.' To the acts of these lunatics and the sick dreams they hatch.' (They call wicked for good) remember
My friend; (2020?) and just extrapolate' then and only things will
Get on the mend!
Any raining of bombs is the first step toward loosing.'
This act must be followed by ground forces.' Terrain
Variations will influence events.! As will populace actions
Among beligerent and invaded parties.' In a brief analysis
' what happened with the English invasion of Ireland?? Long term.!! Bearing in mind 'both nations close proximity'
Then extrapolate that in regards of any conflict with Iran
Or any large middle eastern power.!! Any sane assesment
Screams no!! If Mr Trump is considering any such moves
I advise breaking ties with any force that advocates such.'
Which is most likely an ( n g o ) backed by scoros and co !
As it was in Afghanistan for Russia and the USA and as it
Has been in Syria for Russia..so it will be in a similar war
Let there be peace.' War is counter productive.'
Each and every night this
i pray before i wake
I find in me the word's to write
The poem i wish and dreamed
i always would
That when and once it was
read by every single reader
They then believe that it was
somehow written especially
just for them
That they can turn to when they
are at their lowest ebb , friend's
are few and darkness closes in
Word's that dose like opioid
medication to alleviate all of
their innermost distress , suffering
and pain
Until the demons cascading
freelance through their thoughts
are able to be caught just in time
So that they can summon up
the strength to exercise dormant
facial muscles so as to extrapolate
a smile
That the many other people's
lives that they unknowingly
have come to touch
Have also come to rely on in
order to get them and help them
throughout their day as well
As to some their infectious
smile pleasant manner and
elevating demeanour
Is in part the substance and
the content of aforementioned
poem
I only hope and pray one fine
day before i die i find myself
awakening
Truly to be blessed with the
divine inspiration in order
for me to be enabled to
Express these heartfelt
thoughtful word's in some
poetic form
That will do and treat the
subject matter with
the respect and justice it so
deserves
And hopefully in doing so
somehow heal 2 hearts
with a 1 single verse
For anyone and everyone who
cares enough to take the time
to read it
If you feel you want to keep your eye on the ball.
If you see the need to keep your eye on the ball,
Remember this:
Your chances are better, on the field of play,
Your chances are better, if you see the need for fresh air,
Your chances are better, when out with a friend,
Your chances are better, if you are a team player,
Your chances are better, if you are not sitting down for long,
Your chances are better, if you are not a rent-a-crowd member,
Your chances are better, if you are not a day dreamer,
Your chances are better, if you take off your headphones,
Your chances are better, if you take your eyes off the big screen
Your chances are better, if you can extrapolate,
Your chances are better, if you can back a hunch.
Your chances are worse, if you have been given the run around,
but never been given the chance to run around,
Your chances are worse, if you had a tormentor,
instead of a friend.
Your chances are worse, if you have never owned a ball,
or never been given the chance to kick or throw one around,
Your chances are worse, if your parents didn't give you those chances.
Your chances are zero, if you don't go and buy a ball for your kids,
right this minute, and a spare one to give to any kid with parents,
who are kicking their child's chances into touch.
Fundamentalist Christians row over piecemeal things,
Over whether baptism is required for heavenly sings,
Over whether baptism is needed for heaven’s welcome,
Over whether baptism is demanded by god to overcome.
I don’t know how many times I was asked about baptism,
Whether I wanted baptised, they didn’t accept my atheism,
I’d stated it to my parents but had a question in my mind,
About whether they’d told my so called friends who’d mind.
But I said no, and explained Christian atheism fair, square,
Didn’t mix my words nor hesitate to extrapolate with air,
But each one said to me I didn’t know my own mind simply,
Which left me very distressed, very much in a quandary.
They were playing the mentally ill card, when I was not,
They wanted to patronise me to chide and see what I’d got,
But I didn’t like it so withdrew from their sphere, company,
Which made me feel better, gave me dignity and harmony.
A stillness with life and a peace about my so uncertain future,
A habit of reading, even if I’d already read them in conjecture,
Since my parents restricted me to only five philosophy books,
In case for researchers and academics, thinkers, I had looks.
A fundamentalist household is not a peaceful one, stable,
But is distressed, fragmented and broken, that’s irrefutable,
You suffer displacement because your atheist leaves you,
To ruminate upon his interjection which is to see you through.
I think it’s better today, atheists in god families have voice,
They can be respected for devious acts of normality, choice,
They can refer to teachers for love, for secularist edification,
And have access to the medical profession for an adulation.
I always felt like I wanted it all over;
No feelings; No heartbeat;
Then I saw you,
and you flipped every single switch inside;
Just like that, I felt alive;
Extrapolate a reason
why I had to find you when I did;
When all I wanted was for everything to end;
You’re an enigma;
I wasn’t looking to be raised;
Exhumed,
in a thousand subtle ways;
Just let me go if you don’t want me
to where I was on my way to;
Extrapolate a reason
why I had to find you when I did;
When all I wanted was for everything to end:
You’re an enigma;
I keep a bouquet of dead roses
holding petals of memories
frozen in time;
I have scars from their thorns,
wrapped tightly around my mind;
Extrapolate a reason
why I had to find you when I did;
When all I wanted was for everything to end;
So help me to decipher;
I can’t stop until I solve you,
until I understand your enigma.
living in this flagitious society life becomes numb
yet we extrapolate irrespective reality till we become dumb
mental break downs and frivolous exercises of intellectual contempt
permeates a paradigmatic volition of unparsimonious content
we are axiomatic in our subjective minds as we conceptualize truths
but preconceived notions poison and impede the capacity of our fruits
berayed by the thick insulating cover of vitriolic and obligatory words
you can see with more than our eyes and hear more than whats heard
virtue and value will hurt you in battle
as expression and intention fight for domain
necessity and certainty like humans and cattle
like pride and despair both going insane
miraculous recoveries and extravagant claims
cognitive faculties misfiring as the mind refuses to aim
lost in translation as we wander our brains
a mental castration of parabolic restrains
feelings, opinions and emotions all subjective and chained
like a broken track on a bridge made for a 4,000 ton train
we refuse to abide by the laws in our hearts
as we accept solipsism in whole and in part
judgmental determinist with a maniacal skill
to violate logic and ignore the freewill
you recapitulate hate and promulgate lies
like maggots on a carcass embedded by flies
you are dead in your thoughts and dead in your walk
Trace the outline of your body with a forensic white chalk
to be dead in your mind is to be dead inside time
and if life is subjective theres no reason or rhyme
Dim light
sun rays reflecting
through the window glass
casting shadowy images dancing along the walls,
early morning residue of the night
where hopes and dreams survive
immovable from mind and heart
eluding the memories of the soul;
kindred spirits reawakened
cluttering up the memory
held snug, safe within each memento
those I gave you, the ones you gave to me;
angels chanting
of Christmases, birthdays out of time
cascading flowers fallen petals, dried
pressed within a card, a book, a bible;
secured in this sanctuary
of silenced hymns and unanswered prayers
grateful for what was, what is
between two friends, companions, lovers in the night;
Extrapolate what you may imagine
conjure up
your pseudo images
to all that was and could have been,
here
kept safe, protected,
sheltered forever
in the memory room.
How far do the ripples spread, when eventually we die
Probably stay in the locality, level off, no major outcry
But let’s say we’re famous, suffering unexplained death
The ripples keep expanding, growing further in breadth
See the grotesque nature of spin, is to overplay a scene
Garnishing public outrage, lurid pictures fill our screens
Playing to an audience, ratings become the holy grail
Stories without embellishments, grow tiresomely stale
These ripples are an illusion, imagination going berserk
Carried along by a corrupt deception, truth been shirked
Evidence the one requirement, for establishing all facts
I extrapolate backwards, what the hell there’s no splash
Lines converge into partial truths, confused to a degree
Must be taken with a pinch of salt, querying what I see
Even this soup we enjoy, is manipulated and massaged
Most of the poems are quite good, others form a mirage
Taken out of context a rectangle, can become a square
Brought into focus, desolate pictures, not quite so bare
What’s basically a clean stab, or slash across the wrist
When poets stick in the knife, some give it a good twist
Using poetry for a hidden agenda, political or otherwise
Tantamount to mind-numbing crap, seen in the tabloids
If your going to post propaganda, to further some game
Write it on toilet paper, wipe off, that’s all you’ve gained
By
David Kavanagh
It was not the first time, nor would it be the last, but who's elated about greeting thorns when picking roses from a bush or picking lemons from a tree? I observed from the start that I'd never seen a lemon tree so guarded with most of its lemons in deep and difficult to reach areas behind its new growth of limbs. It was as if the tree in 'Tartspeech'* said to me, "You are free to have and consume my lemons if you can endure the munitions of my thorns".
At the time that my wife was offered fresh lemons by a friend, I did not extrapolate the assigned mission by my wife, and prior to my first approach I had not considered the resistance I would confront nor the pain I would have to overcome. After all, some things are instinctive and routine, not necessitating calculations and strategies. I had no thoughts of the combative nature of the lemon tree until I attempted to extract its lemons. One look at the pointed thorns gave me pause and forced a distraction to count the cost of extraction. I then proceeded cautiously lest I should bleed excessively.
Also at the time, I did not count the number of my pricks, but my best guess would be 10 or less, one of which grew noticeable blood. None, however, triggered a retrenchment or convinced me to quit. I did count the lemons upon arriving home, and they totaled 82 as I recall. A nice crate of lemons for less than 10 pricks. I'd say, not a bad tradeoff.
On these early winter mornings, I have green tea and a mixture of the lemon's juices with a spoon of honey, also given by our friend. It's then that I take a different kind of pause and realize the worth of it all.
011220PoSoupCtest, Favourite Poem from January 2020, Julia Ward *Vocabulary.com Dictionary. As an adjective, tart describes a sour taste, like lemon. Website, Blurtit: Yooti Bhansali answered. ...The word is also used to denote a manner of speech that is especially bitter or blunt in the way it is spoken as well as the connotation of the spoken comment. ....