Long Flexes Poems
Long Flexes Poems. Below are the most popular long Flexes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flexes poems by poem length and keyword.
Educational Competitions:
"You/We are not motivated to learn
how to take care of yourself/ourselves."
And,
We are, together, motivated to learn
how to give and receive
personal and social,
political and economic,
theological and ecological health care,
universally intended,
unitarian motivated and discerned.
Competition for resources:
"We can't change because we are too poor,
have too little health to thrive,
too few nutritional, nurturing resources."
And,
Together, with explicit therapeutic intent,
we are change,
we are healthy resources
sufficient for this day,
healing co-processors for this
and each experienced co-operating
co-arising moment.
Universally commodified competition:
"One size fits all, no exceptions."
And,
Our cooperative health intent and size
flexes to fit our potential therapeutic scale
of authoritative just operations
today,
universally right now.
Competition for power/authority:
"Our aggressive legalistic
and capital-commodified system
is too big to fail,
or even change directions."
And,
Our eco/theo-logical systems
are just ripe enough opportunity
for WinWin co-operative
healthy
co-passionate
empowering networks
evolving polypathic paradigms
to never stop regeneratively changing,
evolving,
pre-volving,
un-volving,
revolving co-passion,
co-arising gravitation.
Competition for health, resilience, resonance:
"Neglect of health care can't be fixed."
And,
Health care can become unfixed and holistic
but best when co-operatively engaged,
discovered through receiving optimal authoritative co-investment
in responsible
proper
proportional
authentic
transparent
vulnerable
therapeutic
polypathic
polyphonic
polynomial optimally wealthy climate care,
Internal and external,
yin flow with yang strength,
matriarchal with patriarchal,
compassionately resonant discernment
with co-operative resilient discipline.
Wealthy unitarian ways
toward healthy universal means.
“The Wolf’s Pockets”
Virginia knows
what’s written
in the mass of a rock
the heaviness of words
not soluble
anchored to life
that does not float
A Wolf swallows Woolf whole
Hungry for something -
“other than” ;
Submerged,
what is not seen
is swimming below
a sharp clean surface
her dissolving shadow
found through slender fingers
wide spread and ink stained
running through shallow waters and
swaying reeds, something forgotten
like touching her child’s hair
combed with a soft brush;
free diving deeper
baptised, she touches Heaven
baby’s breath and
almond scented
Erin lilies like milk,
the sweetest let-down,
she drinks it all in
ignored by charlatans all bored
with their own faux wisdom
apathy flexes fits and moulds
around a body of work
sinks in deep and dry
a sunken treasure
to be found
some time much later
bound to tell a story
that travels down stream
The Wolf’s pockets
weighted with black treasure
open wide and beckoning
arms cast wanton alms
for plenty dreams and
sweet reckoning
infancy embraced again
the sleep of sleeps
and candour
like opium is taken in,
read, edited,
then,
silently missed
a
Final Draft is written
Read again
Read again
;
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
for my daughter
Georgia
https://youtu.be/BpyR9VxRRUo
Freefall/Robin Guthrie
“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” Virginia Woolf
1. Virginia Woolf
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virginia_Woolf
2. The Let-down Reflex.
3. https://projectsemicolon.com/
https://www.facebook.com/projectsemicolon/
https://twitter.com/projsemicolon?lang=en
4. Beyond Blue
https://www.beyondblue.org.au/
Of course no one can predict the future and what is to happen.
History has a way of repeating itself that’s the way of things.
In Europe, Germany has the strongest economy that’s amazing isn’t it.
When they flex there muscles all Europe trembles and financially they are split.
Winston Churchill warned Europeans about this nation before the Great War.
At first subtly, then they stormed ferociously and left the world with deadly scars
The European Union runs strictly by this nation’s evil agenda and policies.
It flexes its muscles, economic power and institutes its ideologies.
Why have the western nations allow this enemy of democracy to take control?
We stand idly by listening to rhetoric and let their policies to roll.
Their navy is dominating the Mediterranean Sea poised to control and to act.
Shortly they’ll have military might another Third Reich is powerfully back.
They don’t want England involved they are being alienated and forced out.
Yet we stand idly by without so much as peep or a shout.
Our military is being stretched out to the limit.
We as a free nation and as powerful as we are, are afraid to speak out.
Our faith in God has turned lukewarm and we fail in our duty morally.
Our leaders forget that with the Lords guidance we can conquer spiritually.
Standing as a beacon to the world, repenting, kneeling and ask God for His loving guidance,
We would be able to prevail against the devil; the world needs this nation to stop this moral corruptness.
The free nations England, U.S.A., can’t stand alone against this assault.
The fascist Nazi’s are alive and thriving we can’t allow this, we are at fault.
They were to never again have military might after the World War, never allowed to re-arm.
Yet, they are here again rearing their ugly agenda this should be shown to the world, and we should be alarmed.
The old man sighed
Sitting on a rock next to a pond
Crookedly balancing Yin and Yang between his eyelashes
Conversing with the Lady of the pond
Jade eyes and un-wrinkled time
In Her beautiful face
Held in his hands
An old fishing rod
Bamboo
Bends and flexes with the times
It holds and catches even the biggest
Devils in the water
The lotus flowers embrace the jade tide
Soft-hearted water caressing unmovable rock
Trees bent in silent reflection
The ultimate knowledge, the Lady whispered
Lies between the murmur of the leaves
The laughter of the lotus
The bend in the trees
Listen! Listen!
These will outlast everything
He thought
I shall give knowledge to my sons
And teach them
Soul
The old man contemplated
The secession of his life
There is a time to hold on and a time
To let go
This time, his time
Is over, long gone with the Maiden on the Moon
Beckoning him home
He taught the young men
To bend with the rod
To bow to the spirits
To be one with God
To be forceful, to be soft
To listen and to speak
Wise Man’s words
And Foolish Man’s dreams
He told the Old Stories
He sang the Old Songs
Traditions and ancient verses
To light their path through life’s courses
And as each of his sons threw the rod on the ground
Frustrated with the old man’s ways
Outdated methods and foolish wishes
The heavens opened and unleashed
The ultimate Father’s Rage
The rain pounded on the once peaceful pond
Dismantling the flowers and smothering the land
With a wrathful urgency
Drowning the Lady in the lake
Her beautiful jade eyes never again to reflect philosophies
Hidden in the reeds
The lotuses closed onto themselves
Never again to give such a sweet smell
The old man sighed
It’s out of his hands now, it’s out of his hands now
And this,
This will outlast
Everything.
You can twist the way a man sees the world.
Do you think that sounds ridiculous?
What if you did it over time with subtlety and diligence?
The audience is largely uneducated, so remind them of their impotence; tell them any other source of facts must be regarded with suspiciousness.
Whisper to them over breakfast and slowly introduce corrosive dissonance; outright lie to them at dinner,salting in some truth for spicy antithesis.
Those who run the country are up to something mischievous; their lives, their fine America, have been eroding with precipitance.
Remember empowered yesterdays with a sad and tearful wistfulness; twist the needs and rights of others with pernicious lies and maliciousness.
Invest their government with conspiracy and its policies with wickedness. Remind your audience that freedom was torn from kings by well-armed militias.
Introduce the savior as a shining instrument of religiousness; defend his faults as small and frivolous and his right to rule as unambiguous.
When shocking reality dares assert itself, denials must be vicious and officious.
A rescue mission must be launched and certainly they must be participants; banners from the gift shop will form a team identity and a certain moral equivalence.
The leader will whip the angry crowd, stoking resentment with fabricated incidents, swearing, “I will be with you on this great crusade and you will be my instruments”
As the mob storms off he will slink away; he was only there for stimulus.
Hear the old republic creak as the President flexes his insolence; he’s seen that no blame can touch him, so he’s filled with proud ambivalence.
What will it take to rein him in? What kind of obvious stimulant, with thousands already dying every day and our society marbled with brittleness?
stars slowly diminish
darkness completes
still we feel the suffers of heat
the fever suspends in the thick
a velvet’s texture mix
clinging to skin as if drowned
dawn flexes, stretches and surrounds
as the last of struggling stars obscound
sunlight strikes without a sound
grabbing and stabbing clusters
loyal fray guarding reaches of dark
the sun rises content and goes to work
dawn's temper dares and flares
leading mobs to the extreme
a simple day can claim 120 degrees
misery keeps no company here
lust begins with fear
and the hunt for shade
any hue of obscurity a rare breed
creatures scurry free stalking unseen
gila monsters are a venoms lounge
despite the screams to leave
this forsaken oasis
sits ringside to hazards door
bright by right a rising star
a blazing sunmade world
rendering addicts galore
jonesing for a breeze or more
bent backs slave to the hustle and flo
fiends circling to numb a mad core
the hole dug deeper
wind indeed She seldom has a show
a quandry rolls in
a circling wall of dust a curtain of rain
she comes riding in
on a Kicked up Beast of sand
a lasso in hand
wrangling hounds
and the force of nature
hitting the ground
blow to blow these animals
defend her round after round
the elements are primed
coming out in breakaway swing
a punch and a weave
dust of demons bend a knee
this is the end of the line
hell is just past the next sign
devils play here long into limbo’s curfew
escape by any means regrettable
here the heat plays for keeps
the dead man’s hand
the sun aims again
with both barrels
the sound comes undone
another round just for fun
the sun reaches down
closes the man's eyes and crosses his arms
embrace the heat or R I P
Terry D'Arcy-Ryan
Shards rain down
around me
ringing upon the ground,
displacing the silence
that was assaulting me
mere moments ago.
Had to get out
and even as the blood
drips from my many wounds
I lurch into motion
running into the darkness,
feeling it envelope me.
The moon
is a black spot in the sky,
coating everything
with its unholy illumination,
and within it
I can envision
my succubus,
sweet pale skin,
smooth and flawless,
lushes curved fangs
jutting from under pouting lips
glistening in the starlight,
raven and golden hair
playing in the breeze
as she flexes her batlike wings.
I can see her red tinted eyes
glowing in the night
and hear
her claws clicking together.
Keeping myself upwind
I slink from tree to tree,
circling.
She stands over a fresh kill
wings enfolded like a cape,
blood pooling in the soil
at her feet.
The scene
entices me,
almost driving me
to move closer,
must resist the pull,
get a feel for the situation.
I sniff the air,
the briny scent of blood
approaches me,
beneath it,
the loam scent of earth
permeates,
lower still,
the smell of my temptress
drifts in,
sulfuric musk,
brimstone and sandlewood,
ash and raw meat,
sending shivers
down my back
like when the first drops
of a cold rain
hits your skin.
For now
I am content
just to gaze on this
ferocious beauty,
watching
as she
feasts on the carcass
of the beast
she so eloquently took down.
As the mist settles in
and removes her from view
the vision of her
is still burned into my eyes.
Things fall into place.
Wait long enough for love to arrive and things fall into place.
Brick by brick, fountains are made.
Building a future of titanium before the grave.
Happy days are back again.
Make no mistake.
I am happy when it rains,
But I live in the rain, so that is ok.
Meteors may crash into Earth,
And once more I shall rip up out of the dirt.
You cannot predict the weather; never mind the change.
Things remain and in time we are rearranged.
Through all the hurt I will continue.
Nothing remains when we are through,
But the ripple effect of who we were;
Changing worlds. I will find her.
Thanks for the memories; gone to never.
Nevertheless, always more to give.
A true bond is never severed.
I am just a boy who wants love to live.
All things change and this new day,
They will continue their affairs until they are grey and replaced.
The list of rejections grows with age,
Until you’re nothing to see;
Live it your way, or hide away.
Natural selection; self-inspection.
Show your true face and become replaced
And replicated and reproduced,
Until the mold is in ruins,
And there is nothing left of you.
Inside I just feel used.
Leave them to their searches.
Adultery deserves it.
Younger version, fading wishes.
This love you claim is covered in stitches.
This twisted mess of a head began with pain,
And that is how this will end;
But faces change, as we age and the mind continues.
Back at the beginning, only time to spend.
The mind grows, until it goes;
It flexes and becomes a new place for sorrow.
No matter what you may do or say,
Still the love remains.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Silken violets, faded musk and jasmine, jasmine floating like some dim angel
above the candles....
Ah, this is the passion of God -- brutal sadness, clash of humanity and beast!
Muted indigo wafting through the rafters of this perilous heaven...
Deliver me from this constraint, this trap, it so squeezes, flexes its cruel arms
around my neck, around my little world of lilies and beaches on autumn nights,
when all the world is lit by the great faery dome of the skies in crystalline
blackness,
The painted colors, the blurred, soggy, miasma of dulled fragrances, odors,
Lifeless textures and sensations, feel them not!
And live past the paintings, admit yourself into the halls of life’s enchanted gates
into its swirling vortex of emotion, misery and beauty, and that most primal of
essences-
Yes, fear itself, worthy sirs!
Fear itself shall always tick, it is the portal of that past life, that startling, gnawing,
tearing, infusions of animals, that is man’s pathway to indulgence and despair!
There is no shine like jewels in a murky pond, for a rose dying in a garden of
sacrilege,
There is no greater romance than Godly valor hopelessly caught in a tapestry of
worldly shame and dark riches...
You shall not have me , bleak coward death!
For I stand in this night as the lone maiden of Truth...
No there is no truth in beauty, there is truth in the blinding light of the
shimmering spires of the realm above!
Hear me, cruel silence, for I know greater love than your cold eyes!
Ah, yes, LIFE, let it ring, mortals, for ye are not mere beings, live more for life itself!
ORIGINS
I
It began in the dank basement of the Thallasic column
steeped in abyssal brine of a thousand supernovae
so much alchemic sludge churned up, expelled by the co-tidal vice into the epeiric sea
A million points of organic flotsam and jetsam; Indra’s vast net billowing, swollen and bloated by myriad regurgitating fountains, shattered vents, open ocean scars
from which inky bathyl streamers wave to and fro
a trillion interactions, a revolution every second
The colossus flexes, stirs.
II
The inland sea carved a path awash with silt and sand-grain memories of a thousand shores
the alluvium mire replete with vagabond deposits
buoyant and bobbing
ethereal strands of angel hair wafting through the abyss
nerves and sinews and veins
myriad natant snowflakes tripping atop organic ooze
vast web spanning to the lapping fetch on clay-layered littoral ledges.
III
The swirling brew, rain-pummeled and vent-swollen
dividing, sub-dividing, swept by bitter sea brine
its mind’s eye under a thick film squints open.
---Life was not wrought in the witch’s cauldron---
---The Cauldron itself came to life---
The Universe awoke from its eternal slumber, and Thalassa stirred
rocked and bathed in a vast organic web, star lit and floating in a Nebula of Dreams
IV
Information-gathering units
each body a corpus of datum
splitting, spinning, joining, fusing
probing, flattening, bloating, separating
spawning countless non-appendage heralds
crawling, flying, walking, swimming, floating
WE ARE THE MANY IN THE ONE
WE ARE THE ONE OF THE MANY
WE ARE THALASSA