Long Foresight Poems
Long Foresight Poems. Below are the most popular long Foresight by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Foresight poems by poem length and keyword.
Does machismo make a real man
with its excessive ego of superiority?
If it is considered the vital part of masculinity,
how come disregard, vulgarity and obscenity are
highly valued by anyone encouraging this character;
I've known such individuals whose breath
had the stench of alcohol and narcotic...
I was disgusted by such behavior and it made me vomit.
Faithless dudes spend a night in the bar, then go home staggering
to their wives and children...abusing them with vulgar words, screaming,
beating them up and then faint on the neatest bed;
half-men with nugatory affection treat them kindly,
you have promised to love them unconditionally,
why do you break that vow recited before God and Man?
The morning after, your machismo loses its equilibrium...
over the beast you had become, to fill you with delirium.
Machismo is a misconception of what men should be;
machismo evokes dark thoughts of all the evil-minded ones,
not a model to look to or worthy of imitation as expected,
and as your strength swoons, your perception is blocked
by clarity, and your gazes fall to factual disgrace
to reveal fallacy. How will a false-hearted man, filled with machismo, ever be
released from his ominous state? There are countless errors and faults,
and foresight is the solution to his self-inferred woes.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
He cries
Yes sometimes
The memory burnt in
Hot iron press into his weak mind
He saw the flowers yet again
Some bustling with life
Half drooping and dying diligently
And he saw
Theres something sinister in the mind
When you realize you near the end of a chapter
All you can do is read on until it ends
...
Well what if you dont want it to end
Stopping reading would be stopping everything
And reading is your life
Escaping or reality of the mind
He knew he was nearing the end of that chapter
All he wanted was to hold on
Read a little bit slower
So mabye
Just mabye
He could enjoy his comfort for a little bit longer
See he is plagued
Not with a disease no
But with foresight
He knew again it was ending
And it ended
And it broke him
All he could see were the flowers
Tears meandered the regular path on his dry cheek
He could still see it
As he slowly forgot her face
The flowers
Sitting atop the dresser
Leaves chant in brown, "Thirty days hath November, too."
What is that I hear? I draw a lingering breath,
as I contemplate this year, the outwash of death.
Autumn has arrived. And I remember anew...
We grasshoppers rest, unlike the diligent ant;
chills we don't address and our breakdowns break again.
Short of sevenfold success, winter will bring pain.
My hope: that God will bless our striving, scarce and scant.
At this November's arrival, the count is bleak;
we search for humility; second, we lack truth.
Where is civility? Murder and theft reign uncouth.
For mankind's survival, selfish mayhem we wreak.
Are we connecting the dots of winter's design?
In our bent to fight, peace and patience are displaced;
whereas compassion and foresight we have disgraced,
to deliberate woolgathering we resign.
October 7, 2020
I am the candle of the soul carrying a flame of the infinite
I want to be enlightened to find peace like a sage
the treasure of wisdom is the shadow of my dream
to listen to the whispers of heavenI will remain awake
within the silence of my being I am able to foresight
the purpose of my existence is to find the true light
in the garden of my mind the seeds of wisdom I sow
like the blossom of sunlight I will rise above every sorrow
to persevere the goal I will not cease what I aspire
I will use the opportunity to make value tne present and succeed
to look at the stars above brings the knowledge I want to know
the lamps of heaven keep pure my heart a radiant glow
into this world I am born with a purpose to attain
no matter how difficult life’s unending challenges can be
in the mirror of my mind the universe quietly exists
It is a tremendous moment of joy to find solitude within
I am humbly and honest and believe I have so much to gain
to carry the yoke upon my shoulder I must bear the pain
for the sake of truthfulness in this world I am born
whatever fate decides to give I accept with love
over mountains and valleys I ask for strength to cross
the pathways I leave my footprints upon will forever remain
every day I awake with a smile to welcome a new dawn
when my message of peace shall spread long after I’m gone
to be fearless of the darkness must answer my call
I will not be tempted to dwell on unrighteousness
every storm of difficulty gives me a chance to rise
into the cave of silence I find inspiration to light
I will never be discouraged no matter how many times I fall
like trees in support of humanity I will always stand tall
from a long journey of determination and courage I came
the fountain of immortality I aspire to quench my thirst
I am a living example of sacrifice under the moon
Heaven and earth are the wings of time to give me hope
I will carry my cross that no one is to blame
when I must depart from this world every cloud shall carry my name
as far as my eyes can see the horizon I will listen to my soul
the sword of wisdom I will remove the darkness from my dream
when the wave of timelessness will embrace me for my faith
I will keep patience for eternity to lead me into the stream.
The screen kept painting the history for the team
In horrific scenery as the chickens came home to roost:
The wars supported in media by ideologies it would seem,
Whereas deeper was the fight for resources needed for economic boost;
The environmental disaster with each new technological advance
Advertised as "CO2-saving", disregarding the manufacturing fall out
As resources were dug out of Earth's internals, not giving life a chance,
Leaving disasters in the wake of "Eco-friendly" mining in the South;
The over-fishing, over-eating, over-mining, over-everything
Requiring the support of a Nature, willing, but drawn
To the limit of breaking without empathy, care, understanding,
Foresight; just over-reaching to pull all put there from Life's dawn,
To the point there was none left, no-one left.
"Remember the Galapagos heads documentary on TV?"
Tsal asked Pezal. "That was History warning of being Nature-deaf,
But nobody listened." And they turned to get back onto their spaceship,
While the screen continued by looping every truly Eco-friendly initiative conceived
To amplify Nature's warnings, to pause the frantic rush
Of capitalistic gain-hunt. But all this as naught was perceived
And even Earth Hour's darkness, though laudable, in the din of Nasdaq was but a hush.
(c) Nyonglema
Life from down Under
Beneath the turbulent, undulating seas of one’s life,
I have swam, against the ever changing, raging currents.
Many times, without foresight !!!, towards dire consequences.
Looking up from the depths at the underside of wave after wave
rolling over me, watching many a ship pass beneath star lit nights,
finding safe harbours, for brief moments, then moving on into the light
and the arms of new adventures, journeys into the mysteries of life.
Mysteries that this waterlogged, ancient piece of driftwood fathoms not.
This piece of driftwood, not but debris left to decay upon the shores of time lost.
Lost !!!, but never forgotten in the light of day – dreams
reflecting, refracting, sparkling like jewels upon the crest of waves.
Waves that will, across this plane, slip into the body of a safe harbour
and upon sandy shores, bask in the sun light of one’s history.
History, all that is left to a lost, old soul, a wander, an uninhibited free spirit
who has become locked within his memories hoard and the hollow shell of old age.
This spirit looking through the haze of murky H2O and into skies so blue,
remembering, reminiscing, seeing from within the darkness of oceans so deep,
of what once was, of all that could have been a much different life, but was never to be.
Accepting the currents flow, even as the stagnate waters of fate, tend to dictate,
direction, they continue to wash over one as he awaits going into that good night,
without rage he lays among the seaweeds waiting for amphibians to come and turn the page.
Upon land, many gardens were cultivated, planted with millions of seeds.
Those that blossomed gave some beauty that lingered on among the many weeds.
Voids were filled, moments were given freely, life was lived and in the end filled needs
After all is said, that has long been done, the journeys, the adventures, in spite,
were one hell of a ride and now all is said and done, one cannot hide, wrong or right
in all that has been integrated, has become nourishment for all, this old soul just had to feed.
B. J. “A ” 2
March 31st, 2019
Resurrected from the dust,
Revisited, Reviewed and Revised
October 12th, 2019
Certified vegan;
Non-GMO Project Verified;
Free of dairy, lactose, soy, and gluten.
The consistency of vanilla
creamy and luxurious,
without a speck of iciness,
yet not overly heavy.
The flavor rich
with notable burst of sweet vanilla.
Said comestible insanely versatile
and will surely be a go to dairy-free ice cream.
Sold at LIDL, and other sites
ourselves former first time taste testers
erred on the side of caution
and bought in quantity
courtesy the missus foresight,
who now deems said food product
more precious than fine spun gold.
Pint size container only ample enough
to buzzfeed temporary craving,
yet invariably whets appetite
(to the power of googleplex)
for insatiable consumption,
thus one must thwart willpower
and surrender tastebuds to devour
one after another 473 milliliters
or more familiarly 16 ounces.
No matter yours truly could consume
aforementioned dessert
for breakfast, lunch, and supper,
the novelty to savor said special treat
would remain as intact
and robust as if one tasted
SO DELICIOUS product for first time.
I never tire scooping out
one after another spoonful
and slowly lick globule
(even when marginally hungry)
relishing each tongueful lickety split
steeling myself against
aggressive depredations of wife
before she ferociously lunges
toward me in a futile attempt
to wrest delectable mouthwatering
(just a hairbreadth of being decadent)
foodstuff guaranteeing happy shiny tummy.
Go ahead indulge sweet tooth
or even if toothless
the culinary quasi oral pleasure
can still be experienced.
O my life! What a beautiful disaster it has become!
For the doses of my sunny days and starry nights grew numb,
And the sweet caress of my existence has partly succumbed.
It paralyzed me—as though my foresight had been overcome
By whispers creeping into my mind like an intruder's hum.
If I could depose the noisy image of my tomorrow,
Would it bring me silent war or peace amid the undertow?
How could I unfetter the finitude of my own window?
For my soul could barely perceive the playful tongue of a foe,
Or a friend's delightful persona behind an ugly show.
Yet I lament that the world has made its own foolish nickname
When filtered righteousness and glamorous deceit have enflamed.
On whom should I lean when moral transgressions take on their name?
Or should I wish to fly to the Heavens far from where I came?
For illusions seem true—and truth can be an elusive game.
In the quiet rooms where maps are breathed upon,
where borders are inked like veins across the Earth,
we speak in numbers—
not of souls, but of strain,
of harvests thinning under a swollen sky.
The arithmetic is cold,
yet it does not lie—
too many hands upon too little soil,
too many hungers circling the same fire.
Stemming what cannot be sustained,
not with the violence of sudden decree,
but with the measured hand of foresight—
a discipline of future over present desire.
For what is mercy,
if it feeds the moment
and starves the century?
The child yet unborn
flies buzzing around their crusty eyes
stands beside us in silence,
asking not for abundance,
but for balance—
for rivers that still run,
for air that has not forgotten breath.
Power must think beyond its own shadow,
must see the curve of consequence
before it bends into collapse.
This is no easy doctrine—
to weigh life against life,
to choose restraint
in a world that worships increase.
Yet history will not pardon blindness.
It will record, without trembling,
whether we governed the tide—
or were taken by it.
Bringing babies into the world just to watch them starve.
She has been a delight
since she first joined this website.
She performs an altruistic rite
both day and night,
sharing her insight.
Pious as an Israelite
ascending Mt. Sinai’s height.
She has ability to distinguish wrong from right.
Lactiferous with human kindness in a metaphorical light.
A moral beacon during a starless immoral night.
Always being polite.
An exemplary socialite.
Never requiring being contrite.
Displaying formidability despite
A genteel cortical initial sight.
Standing upright.
Possessing intrinsic might.
Speaking with eloquence forthright.
Containing innate perspicuous foresight.
She has a voracious appetite
for all knowledge in sight.
In addition, with encompassing insight,
she includes inscribed descriptive might
that can put up a fight
without any fright.
She may write
with words subtly lithe and light,
in quantitative measure appearing right.
About birds in flight,
soaring to great height.
Or sunshine exceedingly bright.
Sometimes a softly moonlit night.
Occasionally of gems of malachite
glowing like green moonlight.
Perhaps rubies luminescent with fiery light;
polished to a radiance shown in a volcanic eruption sight.
She is an experienced poet write;
a legitimate constituent outright
on this poetic workshop website.
She is not a literary neophyte.