Long Futures Poems
Long Futures Poems. Below are the most popular long Futures by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Futures poems by poem length and keyword.
We boast of freedom,
of civilisation,
of lessons from history
Hypocracy of progress
Are we more civilised?
Or simply better dressed?
More free?
Or merely less chained?
Beautiful places,
nature’s wonders,
old stones and stories,
memories carved in stone,
the sweat and dreams of generations
Boom!Boom!
Bombs and bombs and bombs
Greed and power and greed
In moments,
ashes and more ashes
of what took centuries to build,
What took hands, hearts, and sacrifice
to leave behind for those
who came after us.
We look down on the native,
the prehistoric,
the ancient man,
But when we turn
beauty into rubble,
history into dust,
and children's futures
into smoke,
Are we more civilised
Or simply dressed?
More free
Or merely less chained?
When a mother loses her son,
a father buries his child,
and children become orphans,
Is power worth more than love?
Is religion worth more than humanity?
Is division worth more than what makes us whole?
Or have we simply become
more skilled at destroying
what we could never create?
Black crows,crows,and More crows,
Tattered wings,wings and black crows
Not one white dove to be seen.
Blue tarps and pink foam.
That's all some people have to call home.
This is what they use to cope.
They do their best not to lose hope.
Within the span from sun to moon.
They continue to pray for help to come soon.
The roof and walls are built with love.
They stay warm and dry with faith from above.
Scraping up the only choice they've got.
They do their best with what they've been taught.
Futures and past times doesn't leave much for presents.
Boys in grubbers, little girls in peasants.
Passerby's and neighbor's want to tear it down.
Don't want them messin' up their pretty little town.
But just where would you have them go.
So that nobody would have to know.
Well soon is coming, one way or another.
I think it's time to help our brother.
Party line details leave the tax man knocking.
Sadly, the fools just keep on talking.
Someday the moon will light the night with peace.
And hope in a bottle won't be just a lease.
The river of life will flow forever more.
Right outside of everybody's door.
no mind for losing face
chalk and cheese and
white bread, black coffee
we did not make it through without the grind
no softer thrill
to tempest of ill will
fair enough to say we've had our time
I do suppose we could romance the ghost
reminisce on those days gone by
but I for one would sooner be gone
who of them can say we did not try?
there is no time, there is no space
I have no mind for losing face
no one is at fault,
blame will not be cast
regardless of how guilty we might feel
many futures past
nothing seems to last
forever is the notion most unreal
we could be strong enough to carry on
getting better the same way we got sick
all fates are sealed, th' dirty dogged deal
no-one here gets away with it
there is no time, there is no space
I have no mind for losing face
I've paid my dues
I didn't come to lose
dismissing ev'ry lesser victory
plenty came and went
some were heaven sent
an' possibly meant no harm to me
braver hearts will fly, whereas mine can but try
to weather, come what may, rain or shine
with heavy head, I put my dreams to bed
and begin my freefalling decline
there is no time, there is no space
I have no mind for losing face
no mind for losing face
no mind for losing face
Dam you bastards with water; I think you all are coots
While I watch the weather everyday and plead for rain filled fronts
I’m not some greedy bastard, which wants to grow more grass
I need my stock to have a drink, and save their thirsty ****
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some greenie, with an axe to grind
In many areas our futures, are unbelievably intertwined
But for god sake, sit back and think, just how lucky that you are
Because all that water that you waste, well some comes from my jar.
I can’t but help, smile a wry grin, when the irrigation stops
As the whinging starts, about the loss in cash, as profit production drops
Your stock still have water, to pour straight down their throats
Water troughs filled to the brim, not erectile dysfunction floats
I see your places from the hill, circles of dark green crops and grass
Metal robots, pissing water, creatures born of greed; I have to sigh alas
There’s more to farming than factory farms and copious quantities of water
Deciding on paper, which animals must go, on the truck to slaughter.
So please forgive me when I wish on you, pestilence and misery
May your cereals wilt, stock get the shits, and your profits become history
I’m not some greedy bastard, of extra dry matter I have no need
If my stock just had clean water to drink, from my anxiety I’d be freed
Four brothers brought up to revere God and love country.
From Rockford, Illinois, a close suburb of Chicago.
Frank, who grew up to be a Marine.
Ralph, who joined the Army and John, an Air Force man.
Their letters home can be found if you google
“The Abandoned History of Four”
Their only surviving relative a second cousin,
A woman who recognizes the value of their letters.
They express the horrors of WWII, the air raids, the submarines,
“The Japs and nasty Germans raiding without warning”
They take you through Pearl Harbor, a particularly nasty day.
You get a feel for the terror, and the aftermath of what they lived through.
None of the three brothers married or had children.
Frank was sent home with malaria and jaundice, and had mental problems.
Ralph and John were probably in similar states.
Optimistic, patriotic soldiers who lived their truth.
At the expense of their futures.
So, like I said
awhile ago,
I'm reading until totally dead
"Systems Thinking for Social Change."
With four primal turning and returning seasons
of natural yet spiritual developments
between dusk of where we disenchantedly are,
and dawn of where we would become re-enchanted
cooperatively together.
Unfortunately,
I cannot see past systemic Stage Zero
Notice resilient integrity
especially by engaging key disabled stakeholders
in our current disenchanting dusk.
The usual dust
stereotypically non-elite,
Stage Zero invites each disabling unity
to re-enchant ecstatic dreams of belonging
restorations with hurting sources of hope
yet fractured
wounded
sick
diseased
criminalized
victimized
raped
purchased way too cheaply,
abused
neglected
feared
angered
insane
hearing voices of souls and soils and species endangered
disenchantments inside primal green reforesting
Turtle Island
sacred naked Space
for a stone-soup fire-circle re-commitment celebration.
Green SkyWoman's revolutionary choir-room
for naming mendacious chirps
and labeling disenchanting bleats,
pecks
and hammers,
bites
and thrusts,
cooks
and eats,
twitters
and tweets
our songs
and danced enchanting journeys
west and east
with any systemically disabled ecstatic species
In MotherEarth's continuing reforesting project
for healthier DNA wealth
through futures cooperative
global through local systemic resonance.
Change
re-establishing StageZero
outside common RealTime sacred ground
creates inside resonant revisions
of what healthy polypathic regenerators want
to cooperatively achieve.
To less conservatively grasp continuing disenchantments
with where we remain deconstructively stuck
competing for ultra-violet enlightenment
multicultural ecstasy
of polycultural polyphonic blessing
WinWin ZeroZones
for Ego-EcoLogical Resonance.
Here Yang ultra-nonviolent
With Now Yin at least not not green
through aquamarine
Integrity's stone-soup ancient Paradise Lost,
now new reborn enchantment found
and bound toward NighTime's ecstatic integrity.
VOCATIONS IN VERSE
In labs, clever Chemists concoct & create,
Crafting cures calculatively & combating fate.
Meanwhile, skilled Engineers erect and design,
Building bridges & making systems align.4
Artistic Architects envision and draft,
Constructing castles & crafting craft.
Talented Teachers train & inspire young minds,
Shaping futures & leaving lasting finds.8
Commercial Consultants counsel and guide,
Helping businesses thrive, side by side.
Dedicated Doctors diagnose and heal,
Saving lives & making hearts reveal.¹²
Innovative IT Specialists code and compute,
Solving problems & proving tech acute.
Creative Cartoonists conjure, create & draw,
Bringing broad imaginations to life's law.¹6
Skilled Scientists scan & scrutinize with care,
Artistic Authors articulate thoughts to share.
Resourceful Researchers seek and discover,
Uncovering truths, throwbacks & restoring order,²°
Clever Coders craft and compute with ease,
Dedicated Diplomats negotiate with expertise.²²
Marinating moves & making the unknown cover.
Ambitious Accountants analyze and balance,
Keeping finances fine & perfecting plans.²5
VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP}
FORM: Alliteration/Rhymes
Copyright ©?11th November 2024.
How do I think of you as
the past perforates the now?
Do I see you as the boy you were,
or as the man you became when
you broke away from me somehow?
Did I love you then?
Or were we lost in the headiness of youth?
We spoke of dreams and futures
lost and broken now, and
we have lived a different truth.
Yet here we are again;
The present invaded by the then.
Your voice still sounds familiar -
the laugh, the intonation the same
as when we were together last
in the dimming, distant past.
Once faded memories sharpened
as we bring them into focus
once again, and once again
the feelings surge, merging
with today's perception;
conception of a new beginning,
mending dreams and daring to think
of what could have been if
we had trodden the same, not different, paths.
The rain washed the blood away
And for a time I became human again
Children with dead eyes
Play amongst corpses rotting in the morning sun
A father prays to some god
Hoping for a miracle
Abound by his faith
Certainly a deeper faith than mine
For the moment only the gun is god
In these quiet times
I think of people sitting at desks
Being productive
Dreaming dreams better than mine
Building a future
The survivor alarm kicks in
I've been here too long
The scene changes
The father has found his god
For a time he becomes a soldier
Two gods about to collide
One through total frustration
The other with the dimension of time
He once read a book
The romance of war
He always thought the title should have read
The two faces of war
The bullet killed him instantly
Tomorrow he would be another rotting corpse
No romance there
People at desks building futures
Children with dead eyes play in the morning sun.
From shadowed echoes of such a distant age,
When ink met parchment, turning history's page,
A cry for freedom, bold and fiercely bright,
Ignited spirits in the fading night.....
The patriots stood, with courage in their souls,
Against the tide, defying old controls.
Their sacrifice, showing so strong and true,
That paved the path for me, and for you.
We see the ghosts of struggles, stark and deep,
The silent vows that generations keep.
From battlefields where crimson stained the ground,
To voices raised, where justice could be found,
The books of ages, rich and vast,
A legacy of freedom, built to last.
Yet freedom's pulse beats not in dusty tomes alone,
But in the seeds of present moments sown.
It blossoms vibrant in the artist's hand,
A brushstroke bold, across a modern land.
In rhythms new, where ancient moments reside,
And spoken words, where diverse truths collide...
The poet's verse, a soaring, fearless flight,
The dancer's grace, embracing pure delight.
For freedom now, is more than chains unbound,
It's in the space where every voice is found.
The right to dream, to question, to create,
To shape our world, and master our own fate.
It lives in kindness, reaching out to mend,
In open hearts, where differences transcend.
So let the past, a sturdy anchor be,
Guiding our journey toward what's yet to be.
With reverence for those who paved the way,
We greet the dawn of this evolving day.
The rockets burst, a symphony of light,
Reflecting futures, brilliant, bold, and bright.
We honor history, with every fervent cheer,
And build new freedoms, banishing all fear.
For liberty's a river, ever flowing on,
From yesterday's brave battles, to tomorrow's dawn.
A sacred trust, both ancient and brand new,
The Fourth's bright promise, for me and for you.