Long Greener Poems
Long Greener Poems. Below are the most popular long Greener by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Greener poems by poem length and keyword.
Perish
Perish thy will to survive...to stay alive...
This testament of mine...backbone no spine...
Diminished capacity here...next to fear...
The improbable lie...the parody to die...
Suffering the witness...hypnotized in duress...
Understanding nothing...not even one thing...
Diabolic in demeanor...the grass is not greener...
Wilted leaves dried...two minds collide...
Sentiment no feeling...catastrophic no healing...
Paralyzed lost senses...protection no defenses...
Blinded by reality...visions of immortality...
Perish thy will to live...up is all I give...
bmdavey@04/20/17
Deep down from tranquility,
Africa feels wretched in bed,
Pillow drifted from right position,
Leaders enjoy country weighted bread,
Demostration always plugged as petition,
Rather corruption gets expanding as we melled,
Poverty breeding anytime,our strength is shelled,
How do we kill tribalsm?
Boneheaded political preachers accepts imperialism,
Where can I find the reset button?
Will cause colonialism to a dismantle,
Hopelessness rests all-over our regions,
Always reciting that whilst Whitemen fetches our riches,
Aspires for greener pastures in Western land,
But yet we're enslaved with an upper hand,
Till we see broad daylight,
Africa will win the fight.
now walking down
what they think
might be called
the cat walk
stopping slightly
pivoting leaning
whispering with
showing off
their latest statement
in religious fashion
what used to be
just one dress
called Sunday's best
designerless with
a woman always
hat headed
or a scarf but now
scoffed on because
they are liberated
in mind but
they're eyes
too blind to see
the book doesn't
agree with what
their modern
beliefs in letting
them cast stones
unfashionably
but sung in a more
modern they hate
song they are
compaired
by the height of
their steeple
as the aisle
to the altar
shifts and alters
uncoordinate
colors from
regal red
to grass green
but not greener
on the other side
from being eaten
by
all
the
sheeple
Form:
It's said, the grass is greener on the other side
The world as we know, split into two dimensions
To find this wonderful place, I will make great strides
It's exact location, has yet to be mentioned
Imagining, everything will end happily
No need to worry, over stress and agony
The anger and sadness, will bother us no more
Opportunity's, will be knocking at the door
I can only speculate, what delights await
We might live together, in peace and harmony
Maybe there, colors and sizes won't alienate
A better life, we all should get a chance to see
I will continue to pray, that my chance will come
For maybe then, a better man I will become
5/6/2017
Grace Thompson
1894-1917
At the timbered railroad depot,
On lower Philadelphia Street,
Across from the lumber yard and the state school there,
I spent many an erstwhile afternoon,
Sitting and worrying and waiting,
Like an expectant Ceres,
For the returning equinox,
Like an agonizing Penelope,
For her long lost love,
From the ancient shores of Ilium,
Waiting and hoping in the spring rain.
And I thought a thousand thoughts,
About life and love and finally dying.
And I also thought much about my wonderful father,
My gentle fitful father,
A wayward, kind soul he was,
Who, out of the blue,
Left the town and our family behind,
Left to find greener pastures as he said,
And who promised to return,
When his oats had at last been wildly sown.
And I waited and waited,
Praying and hoping,
That the next train would at last bring,
His lovely humble smile,
His relaxed eyes, and handsome hermetic brow.
But my endless patient waiting,
Came to a halt that day in cloudy April,
My last day alive,
When again, the tremulous train arrived,
There at the timbered railroad depot,
Across from the state school and the lumber yard,
And once again, he was not on board.
And so, here I am now,
Still waiting patiently, expectantly,
In my dusty forgotten grave,
Waiting for just a single simple flower,
From the only man I absolutely adored,
To be placed upon my single simple tombstone.
All the boughs that we were shaking,
vows we were taking,
were the nows we were forsaking –
lessons in love.
Strong on style, or long on laughter?
Hard to figure what you’re after.
All the codes that we were learning,
modes we were spurning,
were just roads with no returning –
lessons in love.
Try to pin you to a feeling –
nailing custard to the ceiling.
All the tricks that we were trying,
sighing and crying,
all the time, our time was flying –
lessons in love.
Leave your troubles on the shelf, dear:
pick a theme that’s not yourself, dear.
All the fruits we never tasted,
posters we pasted,
all the joy we had, but wasted –
lessons in love.
Understandings? Misdemeanours?
Seeking grass that's always greener.
All the chances we were spurning,
bridges left burning,
tied to winning: losing is learning –
lessons in love.
Blame your parents? Blame your gyno?
What’s the answer? How should I know?
All the words we wrote for sending,
tendency-trending,
while our fences needing mending –
lessons in love.
On the way, you may discover –
friends, we choose: we’re stuck with lovers
All those trips we tried contriving,
never arriving:
all the drunks insist on driving –
lessons in love.
High society has always been
High above the rest
High in their castle and oasis
High in the penthouse and palace
High in the big house and gated suburb.
While the rest wander the hills and fields
Streets and alleys, making a living
Or scraping a living.
Seeking greener lands of the free
Ever westward;
Pilgrims and pioneers, trappers and traders
Roughnecks and rednecks
Seeking their own jackpot
From the Klondike to Vegas.
High and low have always existed side by side
One above, one below
It’s no different today
Just more of both
With the gap between wider than ever.
But what really is high and low?
Are those at the top better as well as richer,
And those at the bottom really less than?
One man’s wealth is another’s poverty
The loss of freedom within a gilded cage.
What is richness, or beauty, for that matter
If it is only measured against another
And not a natural quality of just being alive?
The gap between have and have nots
Is material, but that gap is easier to cross
Than the inner gap that doesn’t know
And cannot see what real wealth, beauty
Freedom and exalted being really means.
(9/22/26)
Who is this Malaysian boy?
His style is dashing,
His eyes are beckoning.
He is the eastern boy from Nnewi,
With the hands that work all day,
Where poverty has no space.
He is the western boy from Ile-Ife,
With the reckoning personality of dignity,
Here,kingship breeds.
He is the northern boy from Daura,
With the ancestral voyage of valour,
A nature of prestige.
You'll find him in his abode,
In the central district of Kuala Lumpur,
He burns candles at both ends,
The Nigerian trait of dutifulness.
Leaving b'ami,ma'mi,Aduke and Akanni back home,
He had tears in his eyes.
Again,his face lit up with the hopes of riches and glamours.
"In the nearest years", he had said,"I'll be rich and famous".
"I'll buy mama,papa,Nwanne and Nna each,a plot of land".
"Magnificent structures will stand on each land".
"Aminatu and Aliyu will go to better schools",
"Ramatallahi will no longer be a milk-maid".
He said these when leaving the shores of his fatherland.
His kidneys are dually intact,
They are very special to him.
He has been taught the essence of hardwork.
He understands the menace of moral decadences,
And the consequences therein.
He's indeed not a drug peddler,
He is not into cybercrime,
He's only gone in search of greener pastures.
At the wake of their economic turmoil
Destitute sailors with battered ships
Set sails to seek fields of greener pastures
Aided by Indian Ocean winds, they drifted north
Welcomed with open hands at the Moroccan fort.
Seen as lost souls in need of aid and care
They were embraced, unaware of the deceit they'd bear.
Like salt dissolving into water, they melted in.
Offered status, they began a trade by barter.
But beneath their guise of humble traders lay a scheme
Their kindred followed, with goods as merchants' team.
Initially trading on Gold, diamonds and Ivory
With more fortune, our kin to slavery they bury.
Things began to fall apart, a wave that swept the land
Transforming cultures, as if done by God's hand.
Way of life of peasants from distant shores
Echoes of tongues never heard before.
Crosses rose where once stood ancient shrines
As old beliefs gave way to foreign signs.
Leadership stripped off it's dignity, embracing thoughts of a few.
Africa's destiny began to accrue.
The European arrival is our owes to borrow
Their taking knows no bounds, eating flesh and sucking the marrow.
No replacement offered for what they claim
In their wake, we're left to navigate a maze, a boring game..
There she was sitting beneath a decaying
Magnolia tree,
Whistling the lamentations of the discontented,
Absent mindedly flicking empty beer bottles into a arsenic pool,
Hiding her soul from the pestilant sun
And the bitter hope of yet another false dawn,
I knelt beside her beneath the poc-marked
Black boughs.
And watched the ripples dying a painful death upon the stagnant water
So skillfully posioned by man's skeletal hand
I pleaded
" this is no place for one so young who has the privilege of time dancing at their feet.
These dung hills this poisoned land of wishful thinking and demented dreams
Is only for lost causes, disappointed truth seekers and the battle weary who fought the world,
Who spend their days taking obscure roads
To pointless destinations.
You must return to paths narrow and straight,
Where bitter words shrivel and wither beneath the radiance of a fulsome moon"
She wants to speak but I say,
"Please don't tell me your ills my wisdom is
As deep as that toxic pool.
There is no cure no hidden medicine upon
This parasitic breeze"
But she weeps,
"Why can't they leave me be to my rhyming
And my poetry,
I was obedient you see believed all the lies
They told me never realised they're reducing
My life to office cubicle mediocrity
And now they want more,
Body beautiful is what they say, a perfect life with white shiny teeth,"
I sigh " the world is what the world is they
Will never be satisfied "
I take her gently by the hand and lead her back
To the mist that poets and madmen cannot
Pass
I kiss her on the cheek and hand her a tattered copy of Yeats 'The land the Heart's
desires '
I whisper "your pasture will be greener
Your sky the deepest blue and you will bathe in crystal clear springs of the mind,
Your soul is for you alone"
As she vanishes into a haze I hope she gone forever and never returns to this empty God forsaken land.