Long Finder Poems
Long Finder Poems. Below are the most popular long Finder by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Finder poems by poem length and keyword.
Truth burns at the center of all occurrance,
it is a heat that motivates appettites to enlarge,
truth is a multiplier of quests,
satisfaction always arrives at the porch of a new path,
truth does not reveal endings, only beginings that behave
like currents pushing towards a shore,
truth demands stamina from the finder as well from the seeker,
it dashes in delight from the tired,
indolence receives no invitation from truth because laziness is a debtor,
a fish with no gills,
credit walks not from the bank steps of truth,
one must exchange, transact with it, as wanting is to worth,
Truth holds strength in one hand and suffering in the other,
He gives quarter and meal to surviving artificers who are organizing
their talents for future enterprise,
to the brigand and beggar He puts on a pewter plate
bland beans representing distance,
disillusionment preceeds the knowledge of utility because
new truth means fallacy is an ancestor,
an anthropologist is truth, observing your traits,
orbiting the ability of your judgement,
some of Truth's revelations are more expensive than others,
sometimes He will take your Past and grin like a haughty antique dealer,
truth will invest in your Future as a gambler revisits old glory
speaking fresh fortunes in cold ears,
He is an opportunist incessantly offering information for spirit,
without the ignorant truth becomes a vagabond in a vineyard of sweet rust,
the secret of truth is that it is ours
if we wish to be honest with ourselves,
truth is the inheritence of the strong who know how to make it,
oppossed to those waiting for it -
J.A.B.
God does time fly!
Psalms allm ssllaay yyai!
Doesn't it seem as if we have never been?
There was now another thing accepting us?
Like we were fluids?
Drunken fluids that is comparable to these standards-
eruptions!
The fault in the crust going to kill us ever after even though we don't know us-
we are decent folk
but always clone,
but where oh where to say we went home?
I know of distance and poke,
I know of wrongful god and soap,
I don't think you know though-
where the strikes at heights find lightnings to bite,
where there are stations upon their masters of relations of separations that don't adhere,
nor guide us-
live in Gobe-
central Amazon,
People finder.com for the good one's who survived...
I loved her, expected her yonder,
but became far fetched and the flogged bogger...
It was so longer than she respects-
it was faulty as the next,
and then they said let's bless this ...
my voice may not be loud
I may not stand out in the crowd
not game changer
but a strange stranger
that's me
others have a louder roar
other wings, a higher soar
but, listen...there's more
epic doesn't negate my tale
Nor does fame make it pale
watch out for me
I date destiny
in my little sphere
I oscillate
making waves that vindicate
purposefully planted
I speak the
unique
a different take
a different shake
awake
faking fake
I'm real
sometimes a whisper
sometimes a shout
or in monotone metronome meter
I...get...the...truth...out
influence is what I'm about
silence is not golden
when happiness is stolen
catalyst reviver
destitute dream finder
prejudice grinder
a healer, binder
I am reality
existentialist examiner
look at me
I'm here to leave a mark
I'll not stay in the dark
Little light shiner
I may not be the blaze
but i'm steady,
it only takes a little light
to ignite
the world
I am me
not a Shakespeare or a Donne
no, neither one
but my place I have won
with a party of one
that's still influence
that's still power
in this time and hour
that's all we need
one person
to change...
one world
with one word
it can be done
I'm here
I'm your party...
your party
of
ONE
Eileen Manassian
Purple Dreams In Other Realms
Once upon a magical evening an enchanted fairy I happened to see
dressed in a fantastical dress with two dappled wings of lace,
she shone like the midnight sun;
I must confess, she looked rather whimsical
sitting there by a green wooden door, waiting for your lore !
I wondered aloud “how has she found me”
A whisper answered “I have not found you, you have found me”.
“yet it is you who are sitting patiently at my door” said I
But let us not quarrel over who is seeker or finder
Let us ponder the depth of the distant purple moon
A somewhat quizzically smirkish grin tickled her face
As if she were the teacher and I the unsuspecting student
She gazed at the purple shrouded moon
Wondered aloud “why does the darkness paint the clouds”
I suggested the answer might be found in her dreams
“But you must come with me into this dream
For I am a fairy and easily swayed by the winds”
“Then we must open the weathered wooden door
For it is the place of the keeper of the dreams”
I flinched when she said “let us close our eyes and enter”
She slipped her wings past the creaking door
“we will be safe” she whispered “for they are my dreams”
A sun shone in the distance, dark clouds crested a mountain
A butterfly alit on her shoulder shouting
“She is all grown up, she has come home”
A great flurry of wings encased her as she giggled
Laughingly shouting “you are the voices of my dreams”
A soft voice rolled out of the distant mountains saying”
“and you the dream that touches the hearts of children
When the purple darkness paints the clouds”
//First stanza Mystic Rose Rose//
//Finish my poem poetry contest Purple Dreams in Other Realms//
Indoors
the cause
Bug’s here
there's fear
Lock down
Wont frown
I'm glad
not sad
Can write
All night
And day
Way hayyyyy!
Big smile
All while
Pen poop
On soup
Will warn
If ‘p orn’ …
(bawdy
nawdy!)
Outdoors
for stores
We’ll walk
and talk
Then stop
to shop
Small task
dons mask
Masks chafe
stay safe
In line
of nine
The ten
all men!
No bread
said Fred
Nor Jam
or ham
Greedy?
Needy?
Price Hike
says Mike
Not on
Shouts Don
What’s worse
Lost purse
I’m broke
I choke
I’ll pay
Says Ray
Heart lift
At gift
I cry
Sweet guy
Repay
One day
When life’s
Less strife
From midnight today we are in lockdown for 3 weeks in an attempt to stop the spread of the virus which is now in our community… we have been covid free for 7 months but people are already re adjusting to the regulations which will come into force and are wearing masks and distancing. There is a deal of ‘poetic licence’ in my poem but an on line friend was shopping and someone slipped an envelope in her shopping basket it contained some money and a note asking the finder to ‘pay it forward’ one day
01/06/21
Life lover
Death mugger
Hope giver
Low sugar
Water chugger
Love lugger
Tree hugger
Silly bugger
Fun frolicker
Food fantasiser
Friend finder
Hug holder
Soft shouldered
Money shrugger
Deep diver
Divine dealer
Rift healer
Hate hater
Kindness creator
Destiny developer
Imperfect Father figure
Occasional tent rigger
Peace pursuer
Joy juggler
Plate wobbler
Poetry writer
Destiny thriver
Earth empowerer
Environment ambassador
Eden encourager
Evil eradicator
Snake stamper
Veganish validator
Animal appreciator
Wonderful wisdom warrior
Future fantasiser
Present meditator
Past appreciator
Sporty spectator
Not so bad geezer
Summertime sneezer
Bespectacled bungler
Kitchen surface scrubberer
Sad movie blubberer
Healthcare handler
Magic marveller
Movie meddler
Piano plonker
Canine craver
Book reveller
River walker
Christ carrier
Church changer
Cross celebrator
Deafness dabbler
Community keeper
Poverty challenger
Happiness harbinger
Justice instigator
Prayer purveyor
Holiness hailer
Jehovah jotter
Jesus jostler
Bible basher
Beautiful
Believer.
While walking I saw
something move in the corner of my eye.
When I gazed straight at it,
it was gone.
But, on second glance, askance,
there it was, again.
To and fro, direct and peripheral,
it appeared and disappeared on cue.
Head down, focused, tunnel-eyed:
I missed the cherry blossom burst.
I missed the fledgling bird's first flight.
I missed seeing clouds both sides now.
I missed the birth of mirth in common in crowds.
I missed the context of milieu's view wide-angled
With eyes binocular.
Head down, glued to the viewfinder, set to myopic focus,
I had no inkling of what I missed
as I walked.
Night fell.
I back-tracked the path in the dark,
under the gaze of the crescent moon.
But, the path was vague in darkness.
The harder I looked,
the more I focused straight-ahead,
the less I could see the path.
It disappeared from view.
I stumbled into side-walk bushes.
I tripped over a log.
Weirdly, the path loomed up clear,
outta the gloom, in every sideways glace I made,
Clearly spelled-out in peripheral.
Whenever I picked myself up from a fall.
or glanced back askew from the side-walk,
the path was clear as a bell,
in sideways view peripheral.
But, if I looked back directly dead-ahead,
to see the path clearly defined, in twenty-twenty,
it was gone.
The only way to track the path
was to flick the eyes
to and fro in glances,
into and out of the corners.
Like a boxer in three minute rounds.
I struggled ahead along the path dark and gloomy.
Weaving like a wayward drunkard
pledged to be sober as a judge.
Plying the wobbly peripheral path
with view finder
set to landscape,
lens set to fish-eye.
-----------------------------
21 July 2021
Central vision is weak in the dark. Peripheral vision can detect faint light sources at night hidden from central focused gaze. Peripheral vision is better for detecting motion, especially flickers. Perchance ponder the implications if you will.
----------------------------
the earth cannot live without mad!-
someone said
the earth is alive for the madness of her dwellers
I say
sometimes I think –everyone is mad
in breathing, in speaking, in writing
in walking, in doing something….
without knowing self
mad get ready always minutely
cause if people say awkward something
and mad prattles on others as fault finder for covering self imperfection
sometimes poetic music comes as a first raindrop
showers the mad heart
and cleaned heart gets ready to love poetic insanity
a voice comes, a voice goes
a time comes, time goes
the stream comes, the stream goes
today's village, tomorrow's town
change comes with evolution, change comes with revolution
and then change goes to lost
in that losing sunlight
in that losing moonlight
the insanity discovers, invents
an amazing something which brings great change for all to live in peace
-April 25, 2019, Chattogram
Are You a Contributor?
By Franklin Price
8/5/2019
Are you a contributor, in this world in which we live?
Are you doing good or bad, with what you have to give?
Not all about the money, but also the attitude
When you contribute your opinion, are you considerate or rude?
You may think that your opinion is the truth and is the best
You got it from the internet, and, for you, it passed the test.
Or watched it on the TV, from CNN, or maybe Fox
Uncorroborated info, puts you, the finder, in a box
Whether money or opinion, to contribute, you can lose
Being wise or being foolish, either way, is yours to choose
Seek the truth, and not the spin, when deciding on the side
And do so very carefully, or you'll be taken for a ride
The Earth is in upheaval, both with nature and with man
Of the way we work together, I am really not a fan
The internet and TV and their spins have set the pace
Political opinions, not the truth, now leads the race
The sea paints an ever-changing portrait of itself in water colors.
The images roll through your view finder or your eyes as you watch.
Sometimes it is glassy silky smooth, syrupy, reflective.
You get to paint the sky twice, once above, once reflected.
Else, the surface is rippled and dappled with wavelets, like fish scales
Then, with bigger waves the colors darken and the surface roughens to
resemble blue rocks strewn.
It's time to add flecks of white as wind flips the top off small waves,
breaking them.
The scene resembles a meadow with a dense flock of white butterflies on
migration flitting over the ruffling surface.
Now as the waves get bigger more texture and deeper blue hues are needed.
More white is squeezed to paint the white-caps and white horses prancing on rolling hills.
More skill is needs to show the depth of field for waves curling with tops flipped over and crashing down.
Now, as the storm builds and winds howl the sky darkens to menacing.
You now need to convey the rocking and rolling movement of the waves surging up and down, driving downwind purloined with foam.
Then, later, only the huge breaking waves in the foreground are visible, the distant view obscured.
The sky is menacing grey and black, the foreground frothy white with foam.
The painter now transforms from painting seascapes to painting wild waves, curling up, the surf tumbling down and surging spray and foam.
As dusk descends and darkness drops in, the sea packs up its paints and easel.
Time to rest and slumber on seabed, until dawn heralds a new day, a new seascape of marine art to paint.
So folks out there, come down in morn to the seashore, and watch the sea paint dynamic seascape self portraits.
Bring your paints and easel.
Join in. Its Free!