Long Formula Poems
Long Formula Poems. Below are the most popular long Formula by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Formula poems by poem length and keyword.
Buttercups withered outside my door,
their stems split dry—
blood leaks anyway,
like this is how it happens.
Every step cracks the glass,
it keeps breaking, slowly,
what spills out—
rain,
my eyes.
Maybe the answer isn’t me—
with the one who refused the ring.
How am I even crying today—
because there’s enough grief, or maybe
because I can’t grow roses.
I watch the lights go out; there is
no one in the house, the chance already gone,
“tant pis,” then.
Who even wants the formula—
to initiate, comply, and carry it all,
as if it takes courage just to care
for her body, her breathing, her eyes.
I practised courage
in rooms that do not exist;
dust knows the lines well.
So, I guess they mean it when they say
“A rolling stone gathers no moss.”
“Stay still,” they say.
Nectar from too many flowers has given her
a halo around her head, a radiance
clinging to her skin—
is that intoxicating—
or just carnal desire,
overused?
Behind the lively discourse is to fill the placement
Lovely familiarity before the main statement
After gallivanting the parlor is the pavement
Nice conversation, just void of any argument
Direct intentions, hidden in sweet scenting fragments
Indirect message, passing through a nice compartment
Sentences, garnished in honey for any treatment
High is the soul, not knowing of a waiting shipment
Mere praises, soaked in the bloated tales of achievement
Each applause, a segment to land into the moment
Not a clue, what is coming as the main part augments
Talk for loyalty, the formula for some government
Silver is made gold in words to push for a movement
May 2024, 2nd half of our six months friendship.
I realised I had developed feelings,
I was panic as well as excited.
I worried because deep down I knew,
There would not be anything past friendship.
I started to make excuses,
To stay away from you by not going to your 2nd home.
I pretended to do some special projects
That could only be performed at the MCC,
Indeed, I did. Piano and computer all to myself,
There was no need to ask for time extension and,
Plenty of music and songs to listen to.
It was sad I had to trade all that in,
So, I could hide my feelings.
There were struggling, to disclose my feelings
Or pretend nothing happening.
End of May, something happened to my place.
I went back to visit you at your 2nd home.
It started a close friendship.
We prepared and consumed food, after shopping.
We also shared our life stories.
For the next 6 weeks,
I relived my sweet sixteen and never been kissed.
With all the excitements and our amazing past life experiences.
You were always on my mind,
I constantly racked my brain to find,
Things that could keep you interested,
As a matter of fact, I think I succeeded.
I showed you small brown books,
Full of lyrics and poems in my languages.
I shared the Asian traditional cultures and beliefs,
Even the Imperial secret formula.
All ended on the 4th of August 2024,
The first day of Lunar Calendar spirit month.
Now, you are still on my mind,
Mingle with negative feelings.
What has actually happened to you and
What were you doing to me?
"I like you". You said that too,
I loved you, but not at all from you.
I loathe you and I will forget you.
That is for sure.
This might have been an astounding scene, once.
Though, cracks and crevices, these days, it confronts
The hedge plants, like uncut hairs, have grown wild.
Waste-hills are higgledy-piggledy piled.
Manholes and potholes are littered around.
One who falls in could easily get drowned.
Flags, once painted on the walls, look faded.
With red-spit splashes, dustbins are shaded.
Here's one; there's one; you'd find in each corner
An artist exhibiting his honor
Are these singers part of an orchestra?
Is earning fast pennies their formula?
Hungry beggars terrorize one and all.
Scaring cat-dog-fowl-swine-cattle groups brawl
Beggars share their alms-bread-chunks with stray dogs.
Everyone sleeps together like dried logs.
Amidst sellers' and buyers' hard bargain
One could hear sounds of much party jargon.
Cutting across them rush the pickpockets.
Thieves hide behind municipal crochets.
Floods of populace flow gushing wildly.
Though vexed within, they seem to smile mildly.
Each one rushes as though under a curse
Indian pavement is a universe.
Charles Bravo died, stomach problems made him sick
Then “cause of death” was found to be arsenic
This happened 150 years ago
Who did him in? we’ll never know.
Harold Shipman caused thousands of deaths
Morphine made victims draw their last breaths.
He was attending physician each time
So many patients, a British record in crime.
Sunny fell into a coma, thought to be ill
Then insulin was found, a clever way to kill.
Symptoms mimic natural causes, poisons often do
Police then find no reason to continue to pursue.
The pattern is not rare, and here’s a thought:
If no crime is suspected, no criminal is caught.
Think today of how much more science knows
Drugs for good or bad, the list ever grows.
I once read a book: the name I’ll redact
It gave the formula for a poison we cannot detect.
It gave the formula of two, I just remember one
Ways to get your enemies without a knife or gun.
Suppose an enemy wants you sick, but not to die
There are ways to clip your wings, so you don’t reach the sky.
A drug puts you out of the race, an invisible attack
Even if you suspect, it’s a needle in a haystack.
Now you might think you’re safe, just be careful what you eat
I have news for you, no fortress is complete
Drugs can enter by touch or even when you breathe
We’re all in big trouble, can I get you to believe?
I’ve felt the dose that does not slay
But moves inconvenience out of the way
A dark turn in the plot, a promise unfinished.
A life need not be destroyed to be diminished.
It's hard to do an absolute classic,
First finding the words to create your piece,
Then compiling them is another trick,
The formula you will have to increase.
With so many forms one has to master,
Many poets simply stick to just one form,
Like a bird perched up high on a rafter,
Poetry comes in like a flood and storm.
The poet's life is lived as surreal,
A great many have a need to explain,
What it is exactly that makes them feel,
Some are extravagant, some are quite plain.
There is one thing they all have in common,
They all give others great inspiration.
/|\
(Ten syllables per line)
You
He
And she is a mixture for disaster or is it?
For he comes to you with all of the equations
Mixtures and fixtures that fit.
But what happens when that number one falls to
the number three?
Is the equation based on simple subtraction? Or is it
based on an answer that needs to be?
So
Is three a crowd when he loves you just right?
Or is it a test in seeing if you'll just keep up the
great fight?
So who is he?
Is this a man that comes from the pool of greed?
Or
Is this a man who is an empty soul who wants to feel the
word called "Need"?
No matter the equation; subtracting three from one leaves
two.
So why are you fooling yourself into believing that the number
two will be you?
So what does one do?
When she feels that he and she are meant to be.
No matter the situation, the formula doesn't add up
when there's...
You
He
She... The Number Three
"Alfred, where did you say you had the keys?"
She would fondly inquire, her eyes scanning around. " I'm not sure, just look around i might have misplaced them" he would reply, scratching his memory from his forehead. Surprisingly, they would share a faint laugh; it was an everyday ritual, a morning memory exercise. He would then go ahead and brush his shoes, his faith in her ability to find a grain of sand in an ocean was rock solid.
Meanwhile, in the evening a familiar masculine voice echoed through the evening airwaves, Fele"..... "Fele", fondly calling out the shortened version of "Felester". She would then signal her location, where pleasantries and daily accounts took hold. Though we heard it countless times, but it felt intimate each day. For us, it was a testament of connection beyond marital dogmatic principles. It wasn't a norm for parents in our setting to use first names.
Through the sands of time, it became second nature. Their affection was natural, their love profound, the conversations were fluid and their connection was deeply admirable.
A couple of winters later, i searched for the formular that explained the power in a name. I sought the ingredients that sparked the charm, the missing piece to the puzzle, having exhausted all sweet endearments - Honey, Chocolate, Sweetie - in a search for a pronoun that would speak life into our withering chemistry.
On one golden morning, when the sun danced with the clouds, birds sang beethoven and winds softly whispered in my ears, i had an epiphany. I stumbled upon golden knowledge, and in that moment i realized: It wasn't in the names, nor the gifts they shared. It was mundane yet profound - their ability to find each others soul through communication.
Is this the formula or simply my retrospective perspective? Well, try it and....
Death of dating started to happen on a Wednesday.
We had eaten a lovely supper at a favorite restaurant
Loved it going down.
Not so much two hours later as it came back up
Death of dating continued to happen the next Friday
When a disgruntled employee who was fired put shards of glass
Into the chunks of blue cheese that got put into my salad
At another restaurant.
Final straw which insured death of dating happened after we
Got married, had three children and realized we could buy a lot
Of groceries, diapers, and formula with the money we used
To use while dating.
Decided to bury dating and begin eating at home where we
Discovered neither of us was a bad cook; as a matter of fact
We like our cooking better than anybody else's
And we can stay safe at the same time.
Besides have you paid a babysitter lately?
Besides their pay there are Christmas bonuses and you
Have to pay their car insurance.
Some say you are lost
If you are not found
On their ground
Some think you are blind
If you do not find
What they find
I am an atheist who believes
The universe is a tapestry
Not a thread
The science to chart the stars
Is but a celestial church
That medicine and vaccines
Are answered prayers
That communities
Can save each other
That math and music
Language and learning
Rebuilding destruction
And regretting a wrong
Are inherent miracles
That to plant a tree
Water a garden
Kiss a scar
Soothe a bruise
Give a smile
Hug a sorrow
Cook a meal
Play a song
Clasp a hand
Bandage a cut
Wipe a tear
Hear a need -
Is divine
I believe the soul of nature
Is sacred
and a rainbow's refraction
Is all the more radiant
For the formula it contains
I believe the finitude of life
Makes a more precious day
And, to my friends of other faiths
I believe - we can meet halfway.
4/27/20
(this was inspired by a poem I read by Anil Deo called Any Athiests out there - thank you for your kind response to my novella-of-a-comment, Anil!)