Long Free love Poems
Long Free love Poems. Below are the most popular long Free love by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Free love poems by poem length and keyword.
Where are your arms hidden in disguise,
you are our path to freedom and pride.
The spaces are taken by the celebrated and hated,
where is the love which given is for unborn,
take us with free love,
and deadly flight of widowed dove.
Stay within my spaces,
open your native places.
Understand with an open heart,
war is just an ugly form of art,
like a poison dart will eat your freedom,
burn down your home,
devastate everything we grow,
and everyone you ever knew or know,
will turn to dust under rusted nails,
and busted cemetery gates.
Never underestimate the power of one another,
with each other and the games we play,
because some day will dig our own grave.
Some would say, it's just another day,
another foul play, just go ahead and pray.
Never gave it a single seconds thought
What love in fact actually is
Why on earth would i
Merely just took it for granted
As I hope you did to
No need for word
The silent word is true perfection
Wins out and comes out hopefully
Because we actually do
Never ever questioned it at all
Neither did you thankfully either
That to me is my true definition
Of love after all
No hidden catch , No strings attached
Just Free - Love
A Bond
That only Death alone can break
But in effect all what that really does
Is make that bond grow even stronger
And last and live forevermore on
As some bond's such as love
Are unbreakable
If it is real and true love
You are lucky enough to have experienced
Otherwise how on earth would you know
You couldn't that simply isn't possible
Zippy the Hippy
Zippy was an older man
Living his life the best way he can
Along came Flower Power in the sixties no less
It changed his personality badly I guess
He dressed all flamboyant flared jeans and all
With his bell bottomed trousers he had answered the call
To a new life of wonderment, flowers and the like
He even drove a big three wheeled motor bike
With the music of the day blasting out of his radio
He rode around town to put on a show
In his fancy clobber and with flowers in his hair
He just went through life without a care
Then he met Bonnie a girl in tight jeans and a great smile
A really good looker the best by a mile
Fell hook line and sinker he just did not care
What others thought of this ill matched hippie pair
Together they celebrated free love for all
Just spent life together, a never ending ball
They bought an old Citreon 2cv car a funny looking thing
Bright yellow it was but a lot of joy it did bring
So they traveled the country whenever they could
And enjoyed life together like any couple would
They got involved in protest marches at Greenham Common no less
What made them do it was anybody’s guess
Arrested a few times, spent a few weeks in Jail
When they came out they both looked quite pale
As the sixties became seventies times changed quite bit
But together they roamed the country still keeping fit
Their love of music kept them young at heart
And they swore to each other they would never part
So twenty years later with three kids in the back
Of their old 2cv car with their life back on track
Alcohol and drugs had never been their thing
They had seen all the misery these items can bring
So now still fit a healthy they ran their own farm
Enjoyed living their new life of peaceful calm
So it just goes to show that life can move on
All of those memories remain of a previous life gone
So let’s just say that how wild a life you may have lead
Make the most of what’s offered because you are a long time dead.
Lost Love
There was a girl whose heart felt so cold;
Her true story has never been told.
With her head full of dreams, she walked the streets;
She dreamed of having the world at her feet.
She was trying to live on the razors edge;
She appeared from nowhere and left me for dead.
Screaming from a wonderland inside my head,
Came the sound of a frightened animal so easily lead.
I am an animal lost in loves wilderness,
Begging for another chance to be blessed.
She may be gone, but she is always inside me.
She cleared away the bad memories the bleach couldn’t reach.
This isn’t a day for suicide,
This is a day to rejoice and say “I’m alive!”.
Love echoes inside each and every one of us;
Even angels cry tears of love into dust.
Now I’ve got you under my skin in the summertime;
Nailed perfectly inside my heart and mind.
Love is born to die with no time on our side,
We rush along so blind in search of loves light.
Free love is my drug and love is endless;
Now love will be reborn and I have found a long forgotten happiness.
(C)2012 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Dance of the wolf licking wounds touch
looking into her cold lunar face
chanting spirits under a full beam
Pearl fangs showing canine howls outwards
defending rights held for a taste of
Natures promise crowned brave soul beating
underneath a circle of white snow
bouncing echoes take away the air
inside a lonely space howling back
Hope your clouds upon a breath escape
softly one dove lands cushioned gently
catcher within this breathless moment
feathers fly singing to a flower
to warm the bones of darkness away
Night eyes strongly binding steel cuts grey
Forged under the smoke signals burn
warm driven deep breaths exhale outward
Chanting in the land of the brave ghosts
Escaping from out of forever
circling shape shifting winds expose dust
shadows moving voices encircling
mother earth you gather your harvest
strange murmurs from your heart born free love
Distant memories lovingly prowl
under the sky unveils what one fears
destroying everything beautiful
in the end we all weep inside hell
Under the moon
Under the sun
Sun produce life
Sun burns life
Life is on a cycle
Life is already written
Written villains
Written heroes
Heroes of the past
Heroes of the future
Future wars
Future birth
Birth of a nation
Birth to chaos
Chaos is a gift
Chaos is allowed
Allowed to bring change
Allowed to bring peace
Peace through confusion
Peace through understanding
Understanding life is full of wonder
Understanding life is beautiful
Beautiful creations
Beautiful people
People of the corn
People of this earth
Earth is dying
Earth will live
Live with possibilities
Live judgment free
Free spirit
Free love
Love the journey
Love God
God is with us
God has a story
Story of an ending
Story of a beginning
Beginning of fire
Beginning of a new world
World of peace
World of screams
Screams of pride
Screams of joy
Joy over fear
Joy comes again
Again we play
Again we shine
Shine
Play
My world was young in the 1950's,
before small town America built backyard bomb shelters,
before Woodstock and free love,
when I was just a kid with braids
and Joe was just a freckle-faced boy.
We behaved in school;
talking in the halls, after one warning,
was punished with a lick from Mr. Arnett's paddle;
there was order in the classroom and lunchroom;
recess was a blessed relief for pent up spirits; but . . .
we thrived!
Spring came;
warm sunshine tickled our coats into piles on the sidewalk,
and first love came to fruition . . .
My sister walked the mile or more with me
up Two and Three-quarter Mile Creek to collect love's gift.
I still feel the warmth, still smell the earth, freshly turned,
still see his boyish, freckled-nose charm
as he placed his prize in my hands,
a common box turtle.
Would that such a simple gift could thrill me now as it did then . . .
when love was innocent.
© Faye Lanham Gibson, May 15, 2015
Did our Age of Aquarius evaporate,
fail to regenerate,
to resonate,
fall too far short of what our parents
knew we should anticipate?
Free love could not sustain
weak non-violent resolutions against
whatever busyness was for.
Yet, if love invites synergy,
mutual gravity,
and creation evokes compassion's transregeneration,
how could love cost more than free?
How could co-redemption not invest everything
in learning how to cooperatively Be,
free of enslaving supremacist becoming,
free to come together
as ecological We?
Those who stop to count these costs of love,
look for ways to divest of co-investment,
ignoring Earth's mentoring economy
of light's photosynthetic comprehension,
of neutral's dark unconsciousness,
a fog bank evaporating
doubly unbinding timeless spaciousnest
patterned mystery
absent of color
flowing free love intention.
If Time's eternal unfolding presence is 0-dimensional,
and AnthroNature's bicameral perception i
s 2-dimensional line
and 4-dimensioned time
recreating bicameral form with function,
ego emerging from eco,
yang incarnating binomial yintegrity
reiterating communicating neuro-processors
borrow RNA's decomposing 3-space with 1-time prime bilateral dimensions,
equivalent seasons;
Shy winterish Uracil of Universal freely decomposing love
greets Cytosine's full summer-formed regeneration,
as objectives greet their past and future subjects;
while Adenine painlessly springs
for Guanine's lavishly com-posted integrative harvest,
as verbs form fractal-recycling nouns,
verbal con-science revolutions,
relearning Earth's organic language,
by echoing universal polypathic syntax.
Universal Anthro-cultural
verbal power of co-governance
becomes a Left-brained dominant and reductive tyrant,
an Emperor reified of clothes
to cool His naked Ego-thirst.
However,
when power remains integral within co-passionate
climatic health,
co-gravitational integrity of wealth,
synergetic uniting cooperatism,
then naked 1-power conjoins dark yin-time 0-rations,
shy bigendering romantic convex/concave camouflage,
re-birthing this post-millennial
gift-it-forward
Age of co-binary Aquarius.
There ain’t no two ways about it man,
it just has to be because of you.
Before you came along we could do,
about anything we wanted to.
Man, life was great, life was great, before,
you came along and ruined it all.
There’s Haight-Ashbury’s summer of love,
Newport, Altamont, and Monterey.
And then we hit the road to Woodstock,
and let me tell you man, that was great.
We had free love, drugs, and miniskirts,
we were sure having ourselves a ball.
The Beatles really started smoking,
after Bob Dylan showed them the way.
Next came The Stones, The Doors, and Simon,
with Joplin, Hendrix, and Marvin Gaye.
All of the men burned up their draft cards,
and all the women took off their bra.
There were sit-ins and all-night love fests,
Feminine Mystique, I Have a Dream.
The Hippies knew the right way to live,
there was no end to the fun it seemed.
Black, white, red, brown, pink, purple, or green,
were brothers and sisters one and all.
We had sex, drugs, and hard Rock-n-Roll,
and wore some wildflowers in our hair.
Even left our tracks upon the moon,
man, we could do anything we dared.
Man, life was great, life was great, before,
you came along and ruined it all.
Things might still be a little fuzzy
But that’s how it happened as I recall.
Frankly Speaking
There is a couple on the beach, they have a small room, been on the beach for years, suffered through the worst of it. They have been through every phase. The Hippie, the war protesters -the poet-the artist - the "free love fest"- the heavy duty weed scene, "hell no we won't fn go" from there; To the board room with a haircut and a suit. Back to the beach, to retire; She still wore pigtails and flowered skirts. Oh, my God, we’ve moved slower through time she thought, and those times now seemed so far away. Contrasting times were here with cocaine, ecstasy, and mushrooms.!
S.S. check gone too soon, these days were not like the old days but vegetarians never die- So we dance at night after soaking up the sun; Growing wrinkled and red and filled with vitamin D... He displays his art- we played on our boombox: Bob Marley and Elton John which drew a crowd. We became as one with South Beach, as we practiced our Yoga, or played our musical instruments and chanted “Nam-myoho-renge-kyo”.
My black friend was so beautiful in her bikini and golden headwrap...She roller-skated past and waved. She was a poet like me... She said she'd be back for the session. A lot of her poems were about David the owner of the Franklin Hotel where we lived. I and other poets wrote poems about the system that tried to impose hate upon us free thinking peoples. People would give us money for sharing our poems, and purchase his art work. We’d buy few mangos and veggie burgers for our dinner, next, we’d wait for the sun to go down.
At night, my Black friend. Oladeji would collect the last 5 bucks, for the Gourmet Franks that she sold to the hungry drunks left over on the beach, who had been evacuated from the clubs for maxed out credit cards. Sad looks and broke pockets were not welcomed.
Which made her hot, fat kosher gourmet grilled franks, smothered in her special onion sauce, even more of a redeeming quality; As her poetic sign read… {FRANKLY SPEAKING…Home of the gourmet franks} ... Oladeji, would chant out her newly learned Spanish words nightly, to the dregs of dejected party goers, she’d shout “Pero caliente, saboya salsa” Rico delicioso”! then again in English; Hot-dogs with onion sauce very delicious.