Long Humanist Poems
Long Humanist Poems. Below are the most popular long Humanist by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Humanist poems by poem length and keyword.
(while trapped in Pottstown
Memorial Hospital parking lot).
My humble apology to those,
who posted uber up lyft ting messages
to this Macbook Pro Facebook keeper,
without said scrivener swiftly
tailoring timely acknowledgement
from one harried styled leaper,
thus feel free to take
leguminous litigious licorice flavor
flav can deed extra-legal
imprisonment against my liberty,
(though catty, I am pusillanimous,
sans feline nine lives cheaper
by the dozen), plus verbally ejaculating
out gee golly jeeper,
or more pointedly
calling me a mother f****** bleeper,
for seeming to appear unresponsive
as a stale petrified marshmallow peeper,
and yes quite understandable
bitcoin torrents of rage runs deeper
than a blockchain though close call,
yet just lemme explain,
how during my most recent sleeper
state, a clear as bell curve
living dream nearly
saddened Matthew Scott Harris as,
cuz he got subject to grim news, viz
inducing him (yours truly) to become
deceased within a split second,
upon dropping to sleep
while all around, an
inconsolable weeper
wept sorrowful seas,
more so those family,
and facebook friends
many fine companions
linkedin thru Internet
invaluable cherished persons as keeper,
but believe this secular humanist,
he, who (honest to dog)
unexpectedly subsequently got engrossed
with the grim reaper,
discussing local, current (national), global,
and cosmic events, superficial,
and/or somewhat deeper
(topics oh...and as a non sequitur
d'ya know the name of original
Glen Elm occupants are named Leiper),
anyway Xmas universally
renowned throughout space
yes, jolly saint nick with his farout trappings
topped off with electronic digital beeper,
yepper siree he gets touted,
lauded, and celebrated be
leave ving with whatever
dogmatic faith hen knee
dear rabbit reddit reader doth embrace,
or perhaps being atheist like me,
(albeit I most likely appear
as somewhat highlee
beatle browed from across the universe),
nonetheless, whether er rather,
when still alive this chap aimed to - dee
light, enlighten, and playfully
frighten alien nations
(even those pizza peace loving
inhabitants resembling free
ranging gregarious teenage
ninja mutant turtles)
coming out their shells with glee.
Carrying a sleeping baby.
Cleaning after a successful party.
Camping beyond mountains more mountains.
Playing trumpet on the streets of New York City.
Eating although the food supply is deeply compromised.
Flying with Democrats and Republicans, evangelicals and atheists.
Flying like a fruit fly that won’t quit mating.
Cool as a hummingbird in the stream’s wet spray.
Abstaining wholly, absent from worldly life.
Two dogs fighting but not biting hard.
Chanting as if the planet were mending.
Gourmet dining, devout prayer, loving Mary.
Evenings watching tv. Scotch and Star Trek.
Taking off Emily Dickinson’s clothes.
Meeting in the meeting house, arguing and praying.
Planning a legacy as if you knew enough to control events.
Pursuing happiness as a naturalist or humanist.
Spinning with the planet, performing the history that surrounds us.
Killing many Germans, saving many Jews.
Doing less until one thing’s done well.
Fainting from staring at candles through stained glass windows.
Morning, a billion trillion nuclear detonations per second warming your
bones.
Manipulating symbols, solving equations.
Disregarding tweets and facebook persuasions.
Sitting with a tiny Buddha near a rushing stream cutting a gorge.
Running, disciplining myself, making myself healthy.
Ingesting drugs, throwing die, drinking sludge.
Growing varicolored corn.
Participating in the cause because it’s impossible not to participate in
the effect.
Running over a chipmunk, groundhog or a skunk.
Lying face down in the emergency room facing doom.
Waking up Monday thinking Sweet Saturday! but soon remembering your
trick knee.
Turning the towering young thunder of my anger against my sons.
Regretting the callow dispassion with which I met my parents’ quietus.
Lawn mowing, leaf blowing, yapping dogs, napping old people.
No jets but a rooster mornings, cows and goats.
Al is painting an apartment. Sirma is cleaning the floors. Felix is taking
out the garbage.
Deciding tentatively I slightly prefer Heifetz’ to Oistrakh’s Sibelius.
No cedar waxwings, no chickadees, but beautiful moon!
If you’re alone as you get, why are you crying?
A criminal is sane by their own logic,
You can look into their mind to count them wrong,
They can be confronted for their psychologies,
And told that their song is long.
ISIL is based on the fundamentalist Koran,
Which states that all non-muslims are going to hell,
That all governments should be Islamic,
And of Allah and Mohammed all should tell.
You can challenge these beliefs at school,
Where teens are pressured to choose,
Islamic extremism, prayer and washing,
Such that in the Koran themselves they do loose.
Teachers should be prepared to read to them,
The liberal Koran before they’ve settled on a way,
Or the creed and principles of the humanist,
To offer them and chance at a wiser say.
Educational psychologists and RE teachers,
Should redirect and ask teens to reconsider,
What they’ve seen of Facebook, YouTube,
And to delete their videos of extremist propaganda.
There is a permanent way out,
A long-term answer to this problem of terrorism,
Which is to validate liberal religion, if any, at school,
If the secular is rejected for exclusivism.
Indeed, all schools should base themselves on humanism,
On human values and people ethics for chat,
In assembly where prayer should never place,
Only introspection on life’s structures and bat.
All people are of equal inherent worth,
And since this is not a religious statement,
The ethos of all schools should be humanist,
Not of Christian, Islamic, Muslim sentiment.
Your moral fibre is formed at school,
And not just with your parents at home,
So we should not be enabling or allowing,
Kids in any religion to freely roam.
You sow the seeds of kindness,
In the nutritious soil of beliefs,
So survey each teen for militia,
Towards alternative sheafs.
One world, one people, one universal body,
We’re all the same at base so hear,
That any belief should endorse pluralism,
So that those different to us can be dear.
Religion only causes hurt very ultimately,
So we should analyse it and have a process,
Because god is not sacred but has, like us, evolved,
So promote liberalism and advocate humanism’s dress.
Abstraction is an old story with the philosophers, but it has been like a new toy in the hands of the artists of our day. Why can't we have any one quality of poetry we choose by itself? We can have in thought. Then it will go hard if we can't in practice. Our lives for it.
Granted no one but a humanist much cares how sound a poem is if it is only a sound. The sound is the gold in the ore. Then we will have the sound out alone and dispense with the inessential. We do till we make the discovery that the object in writing poetry is to make all poems sound as different as possible from each other, and the resources for that of vowels, consonants, punctuation, syntax, words, sentences, metre are not enough. We need the help of context- meaning-subject matter. That is the greatest help towards variety. All that can be done with words is soon told. So also with metres-particularly in our language where there are virtually but two, strict iambic and loose iambic. The ancients with many were still poor if they depended on metres for all tune. It is painful to watch our sprung-rhythmists straining at the point of omitting one short from a foot for relief from monotony. The possibilities for tune from the dramatic tones of meaning struck across the rigidity of a limited metre are endless. And we are back in poetry as merely one more art of having something to say, sound or unsound. Probably better if sound, because deeper and from wider experience.
Then there is this wildness whereof it is spoken. Granted again that it has an equal claim with sound to being a poem's better half. If it is a wild tune, it is a Poem. Our problem then is, as modern abstractionists, to have the wildness pure; to be wild with nothing to be wild about. We bring up as aberrationists, giving way to undirected associations and kicking ourselves from one chance suggestion to another in all directions as of a hot afternoon in the life of a grasshopper. Theme alone can steady us down. just as the first mystery was how a poem could have a tune in such a straightness as metre, so the second mystery is how a poem can have wildness and at the same time a subject that shall be fulfilled.
I wonder if one human life
comes with opportunities to go home again.
TimeLine Do-Overs.
I wish I could have taught my kids,
and my neighbors' kids,
and your kids,
that the Holy Spirit is to Christianity
as the Gaia Hypothesis is to EarthJustice and Peace,
to Bodhisattva Warriors,
to secular humanist ecologist atheists,
to Taoists,
to Buddhists,
to the Original Tribes of holonic-organic animists,
nature-spirit nondual co-arising worshipers
of each sunrise,
each life as gift,
grace,
sacrament,
wonder and awe,
not quite so much competitive,
win some but eventually lose it all
shock and awe.
The Gaia Hypothesis
plays a WinWin dominant game
as a creolizing
matriarchal-patriarchal equivalent
co-messianic political economy of co-redemption,
Works for me
as both Earth-regenerative natural process
and HolySpirit-cooperative spiritual progress.
There is indeed something childlike
inherent in this view of Gaia as Sacred WinWin Ecology,
perhaps in a Gregory Bateson sense,
shared DNA-RNA memories
of Mother's sacredly nutritious embryonic womb,
when communication about mutual health care-giving and -receiving
required no LeftBrain words not yet learned,
and yet infant production and host consumption levels
across the double-boundary of womb and embryonic new life
balanced cooperatively co-empathic
or both would perish as one Gaia Spirit.
Everything I have learned about life in the real world
other than this Virginal Gaia Spiritual experience
of matriarchal nurturing flow
to maintain bilateral primal relationships,
has fallen a bit patriarchally short of my initial anticipation,
expectations of meeting others
originally baptized in polypathic Gaia Holiness Spirit
and not really needing to remind their kids
that our shared HolySpirit is to multiculturing religions
as the Gaia Hypothesis is to polyculturing healthier outcomes.
I wonder if I had planted this message back twenty years ago
might Gaia as HolySpirit
sound less hypothetical,
and more exegetical,
today.
The meandering Universe or tightly packed with no edges at all
The Universe huge and pulsing enough to give seed to the life forms is packed rock into a ball
The Universe did it know all along about Love?
Hey what is life anyway? Some say they know from messages above, within— without
Some say they know by analysis, some philosophers, mystics, priests, all claim they have the key to the riddle-- What do they know?
I have voyaged with Plato, and Aristotle feeling the firm ground beneath me slipping away,
I mourned the Passion, I have kneeled for Allah, Vishnu, Shiva, Yahweh, RA, Amun-Ra, Odin, and I have imbibed the mystic, elevating into a fugue
Hawkins, Sagan, Einstein have wisely spoken, I speak their words, “Where did God hide those confounded data?”
I have visited the land where law of religions becomes the external garb of man, atoms flowing rapidly energetically all from cloth to flesh and back again--
In those black holes I have held hands with Sagan, De Grasse
In search of other worldly terrestrial beings, and have floated into eternity embracing Hawkings into beauteous things— with water at the center of it all…
Plunged into darkness, and never found those dice,
What can I say, I am only man.
We have tried for millenniums to answer the puzzling riddles, what is the ‘mystery of inequity’, perchance it is of no substance at all, or is split asunder in the vital soul of man himself some slippery essence waiting to ooze out into the atmosphere,
The riddles are great, and the universe holds them somewhere in the abyss, of man blackest recesses perchance— Maybe there is no mystery at all… “Philosophy is a smile on a dog”
Some say they know by analysis, some Philosophers, mystics, Scientists, all claim they have the key to the riddle…What do they know?
In the desperate search of God we have despised our ways, Men have become haters of Love. I saw the birth of the humanist once upon a page-- Petrarch my father
He held the keys jangling with a smirk and rage…
Man disappoints man…
( Concern for National Israel )
God decreed a covenant; a covenant of works,
on Sinai He gave it to man:
Obey the Law, from it righteousness draw,
- be saved by it if you can.
We labored and cried, and from it we tried,
to earn our favor with God.
We strained and strived, in failure we sighed,
- and felt the disfavor of His rod.
After many years through sorrow and tears,
we discovered our nature too foul.
Our confidence gone, we moved out alone,
- ran to an idol named Baal.
He too, was severe, filled us with fear;
demanded our children to take.
This was for naught, no righteousness it brought,
- so him, we too, did forsake.
On return to our land, we dealt with a man,
many people worship as Deity.
He taught mercy and grace; withstood us to face,
- was nailed to a Roman tree.
After the dispersion of all, denying Adam's fall,
our leaders placed our trust in man.
Utopia to build, by the strength of our will,
- find satisfaction in life as we can.
Doomed to fail, we made a Humanist hell,
with torture as never before.
Workers paradise gone, its doctrine all wrong,
- salvation's not there anymore.
Some men claim, to our “perceived” shame,
that Messiah was the one crucified.
They're common folk, without credentials of note,
- and are quiet easily stupefied.
Surely we, the learned, can readily discern,
by reasoned, scholarly analysee.
We're not easily fooled, as a general rule,
- and we have an historic pedigree.
Yet, if Abraham’s promised seed, was singular indeed,
reason demands Messiah be that too.
Then, our Zionist claim, to National Messianic fame,
- is just another fanciful bugaboo.
Should we look anew at him whom we slew,
determine if his claims could have merit:
The Prophets shed light on a Messiah in type;
- shall we see if the scriptures declare it?
In the Genesis of old, a wonderful story is told,
of a singular birth - miraculous.
The woman’s seed (Virgo), a virgin shall conceive,
- calling him Immanuel (God with us)
blue planet water
blue sky just scattered sunbeams
dusk's red, unbent light
Brian Johnston
July 28,2014
Poet's Notes:
Isn't it great? Three wonders of nature explained in 17 words. It is so much fun
sharing my love of Physics with others. Lay people in general have no idea the
treasure they are missing. Of course Religious Literalists are the most deprived.
They literally live in the stone age (and the rock is all between their ears!)
Physics is not a replacement for God in my mind, but rather, like a beautiful
sunset, another way of viewing Him, of experiencing His love for us. Physics is
just a different perspective of the same mountain as it were.
God is mysterious (but he is also accessible) . He is a humanist (loving us as
He loves His own son) , a mathematician (the underpinnings of Physics) , a
musician (think of the joy we experience in all harmonies, even discordant
ones) , an artist (the waiting beauty of galaxies far exceeding the imagination
of man) , a humorist (who besides me doesn't think that it is extremely funny
that the Jews, as His chosen people, behaved no differently really than non-
Jews - God granting special favours clearly does not make us better people.
'Just do this for me God and I will never stray! ' Really just hilarious!) , and on
and on.
Really, as usual, Einstein had a very interesting perspective that I think we
should all embrace, 'Reality is an illusion! ' And so it is folks! The only posture
appropriate in the presence of God is one of extreme humility (and gratitude) .
Let me quote one of my own echo poems here, Echo: Alone Too...
Alone….. with the lost! Are prayers ever answered?
Alone….. my heart overwhelmed. Could that be a prayer?
I look at the rainbow as summer squall passes
And find that I'm grateful that I am a player.
Aren't all of life's problems, in the grand scheme of things (if we are honest)
really little more than a 'summer squall? '
Australia sings a song of serpents rising up, creating life:
Of rainbow colours pouring out their hope and yet delivering strife.
Came some strangers, brought a Spirit waving truth and love profound,
Freedom banners o’er her flying, raising up most glorious sound.
A hundred years she waved this banner. Then the rust began to creep
Soul-lessly across the landscape, making tracks and digging deep.
Doors were opened. Yet more strangers trod her roads and dug their caves.
‘Truth,’ they said, ‘hath many meanings. We would like to dig some graves.
There we’ll bury gentle grace – erect the boot-legged female tower,
Raise the flag of left-brained reason o’er the right side sensing power.
Cover up the mast of truth and on the ground confine its length,
Let the winds of other options blow away the nation’s strength.’
We have need of nations’ favour. We will let all peoples in,
Not discerning how they’ll answer to the truth we held within.
We will wave the flag of freedom, even though the mast is gone,
And that flag has perished weakly, divided for the invading throng,
Yet we’ll splutter our pathetic hope they’ll like us if we do,
As we hand the dream of freedom to the dictates of the few.’
‘See what once was great Australia squirming in its own red dust.’
That’s the future if we do not rise as one in faithful trust,
Yet believing in the Father who inspired our elders past
To begin a practice of the faith that ever will outlast
Every other. Great Australians, let this toleration cease
For a system bound religion currently on the increase,
Having just one single interest – that is taking prisoners fast,
Waging war on those opposed, whose faith and courage does not last.
Open up your long-lashed eyelids just enough to see the steam
Of the train that’s slowly coming with its own imposing dream.
Please cease flagging secularism - humanist faith that has no legs.
There’s some quicksand in our future, if we hang out with these dregs.
No "FAKE" Fire Drill
Residents at high
land manor apartments
(aside from myself)
got rudely awakened -
by what sounded
like a screaming,
seething, and shrieking airplane
early morning hour
'ere september eleventh
two thousand eighteen
with deafening decibel (at
maximum threshold)
ear piercing shrill alarm
rousing atavistic primal
Neanderthal tapping primal brain
if NOT a atheist secular humanist,
I would aver my linkedin match
(com mon lee) attributed
to Abel and/or Cain,
but whether broad
minded or parochial,
that deafening fire alarm
this bloke doth disdain
but to ears of
volunteer fire fighters,
that unbearable audio
warning tone beloved,
aye need not explain
how appreciative, and
reassure ring knowing
rough and ready persons fain
to selflessly risk
life and/or limb,
when trucking
extinguishing arsenal
with genuine gratitude to gain
demonstrating without
pomp and circumstance
the art of being humane
automatic reflexive
instincts second nature
where breathe, eat,
and live for others
a credo, dictum,
ethos deep ingrain
within every cell
of their sturdy bodies,
sans indefatigable as
Tarzan and Jane
on par with prestidigitation skill
visa vis tricks of the trade
discovered via legerdemain,
yet aside from
power house strength,
another salient trait
needed asper physically,
emotionally, and spiritually exhausting,
grueling, and taxing job,
would necessitate one to maintain
composure in the
midst of pandemonium
gamely, gingerly, and
gloriously fighting infernos
(WITHOUT any mon
key business)
while training, learning,
and exacting diligence
non harried styled
tailored swiftness!