Long Humankind Poems
Long Humankind Poems. Below are the most popular long Humankind by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Humankind poems by poem length and keyword.
Woe betide humankind as it marches on technology.
We had the evil machinations of war,
Of death unleashed from mouths of guns,
And man-made thunder from above,
Laying waste to home and life and limb.
I've heard of evil spawned
From unreined despotic rule,
Of genocide and how it was designed
To wipe out David's Star.
How gas and gun were by decree
Used to grind a people to the dust.
I see evil in the machinations of men
Conniving to cheat and steal.
But it was not Zyklon of the Holocaust,
Or Sarin and Phosgene
That caused a tragedy
Of scale that was unforeseen.
As men stirred from a restful sleep,
As men went about their work,
As children prepared for school,
As wives stirred their morning pots,
A vaporous miasma was spewed from vents
An insidious evil that soon spread
With sinister intent.
No warning or time was given
As laboring lungs gasped out
Their last precious breath
To be overwhelmed by noxious gas.
They fell like flies upon the streets,
In bed, at work,
At crossings of the rail,
At termini of bus and train,
Their destinations changed
With pitstops of Hell
Before Mercy conveyed them
To their individual definitions of Afterlife.
The Passover in ancient times
Had intent and divine decree
And spared the chosen.
But this?
They said it was an accident
Of neglect,
Corporate cost cutting,
Greed for more and more.
Third December Eighty Four
Was when evil came knocking-
Methyl Iso Cyanate or MIC was its name,
And left its mark forever.
Bhopal, I had cried for thee!
~ 27 Jun 2016~
Based on the Bhopal Gas Tragedy
Our World
Falling from the top of the world,
Looking for a parachute.
Once we were Gods, now food for the worms,
Soon we will become obsolete.
Humankind has had its time,
A waste if ever there was one.
Humankind is the biggest lie,
Our world? We don’t deserve one.
We rip it up and tear it down,
We take and give nothing back.
We wonder why our time here is up,
We’ve mined the world of all it had.
But it’s too late to stop the extinction,
What this world needs is a mass evacuation.
The only way to save this world,
Is to leave for good and leave it to the animals.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
The termite culture's rich and vast,
more so, sometimes, than humankind,
with martyrs and mujahideen,
and projects ponderous yet precise,
and back-up plans, a hundredfold.
How do they do it?
Society is based on caste,
with tasks and territory assigned
by social rank. Some watch, some wean,
some whittle, weave, ward off, entice,
while food for all is fairly doled.
How do they do it?
Their architecture's unsurpassed,
with geodesic shapes, designed
with opulence almost obscene,
and altruists. Self-sacrifice
is common. And they mine for gold!
How do they do it?
Hardly least and never last,
over her subjects (all of them blind)
there reigns a massive, fertile queen,
releasing pheromones (how nice!)
She lives to forty-five years old!
How do they do it?
By Phan Tan Hai
I learned to write poetry from the days of youth,
within the musical forms you brought into the world;
in radiant autumn afternoons,
in sky-frames fragrant with memories,
in late-night seasons of pale moonlight,
in the rainstorms of music you poured over my childhood.
You appeared like the sun,
bringing showers of joyful music to this world;
because this realm is the First Noble Truth, you wrote music to bring peace;
because this realm is impermanent, you wrote music to point toward the deathless;
because this realm is full of violence, you wrote music to quiet the human heart;
because this realm is swollen with pride, you wrote music to offer humility and loving-kindness;
because this realm is stained with impurity, you wrote music to make spring eternally beautiful.
I learned from your music to write my own lines of poetry—
asking whether this word brings peace, helping people leave the realm of suffering;
whether this word points to the deathless, helping people flow with impermanence;
whether this word stills the heart, helping people leave the world’s harshness;
whether this word carries humility and compassion, helping people see no-self and abandon pride;
whether this word makes spring eternally beautiful, an offering to countless Buddha-lands.
You lived a quiet life while your music was sung across the sky;
you hid yourself in the most silent places while your music became the world’s breath;
you lived as if from nowhere, and lived as if returning nowhere;
you lived seeing no boundary between self and others;
you lived like a drifting cloud, leaving no trace in this world.
And then your music became the gentle rain and favorable wind,
extinguishing the fires that besiege the three realms,
making forests and mountains greener,
offering boundless joy to humankind,
teaching people to listen to the far shore—
teaching them to listen to the far shore,
teaching them to listen
beyond the sound of music,
when you released your hands from the instrument,
smiled, lay down, and rested in peace.
— To offer condolences to Cung Nhat Thanh and family. June 2022.
Young men since ancient times have the battle borne,
Rushing to meet the foe at the sounding of the horn.
Though arrow and bomb will sorely add to their distress:
"I will say to the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress!"
Wielding burnished sword, bearing shield and with armor gird,
And though the tide of battle may at times be very blurred,
Through the din of strife the Lord will hear his urgent plea:
"For He shall give His angels charge over thee!"
Marching forward shoulder to shoulder, musket at port arms,
Silent prayers waft heavenward for protection from all harms.
Vacant ranks are filled as fallen heroes march to eternity:
"A thousand shall fall, but it shall not come nigh to thee!"
Above the earth airmen soar through the vast celestial dome.
Mariners sail in mighty armadas upon the billowing foam.
For humankind they uphold with honor all that is just:
"You are my protector - You are my God - In You I trust!"
The powerful message of the ageless Ninety-first Psalm,
Has helped brave men face battle with reassuring calm.
Valiant soldiers deserve the respect of a grateful nation:
"With long life will I satisfy him and show him my salvation!"
Based on Psalm 91
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
In this kingdom of fragmented gates,
I'm frustrated in being chained in a glass mansion.
The world is trying to change me,
forsaking my 'chess of life' into ruins.
I yearn to soar like an unconfined eagle,
but my talons are like frozen footsteps on glaciers.
My heart used to illuminate like the northern lights,
like a perfect portrait of a poetic sunset.
Now the unkind mind of humankind attempts to mould me,
tormenting the claws of my tiger spirit.
Upon a path of nomadic illusions,
spiritual delusions, struggle to salvage sunrise,
when the horizons are a blanket of black.
Crooning clouds resemble melancholic tones,
when twilight bleeds in burgundy blood clots.
I see seas of sorrow with an unstoppable ending,
when Satan's sighs summon a history of hurt.
His garnet eyes feel like thorns in peacock feathers,
silencing sentiments into a voiceless cocoon,
spiralling spicing moments into solitude, so I summon
my Goddess of Thunder.
The enigmatic voice of my queen of the night,
resonates in calming flawless frequencies.
Like art from abstracts of an architect,
we bathe in my pool of sentimental stars,
delicately dressed in dancing dandelions.
Each petal sparkling in a lake of rose quartz,
under a moon affair of astral rain-dreams.
If truth had a colour it would be her chocolate eyes.
Her celestial nature tells me heaven can wait.
No longer is my concrete onyx heart on fire,
as it glows like a trillion golden dragonflies.
I walked with a giant today along a rippling mountain stream.
He's been my friend for years, I hold Him in high esteem!
Tho' at times I've strayed from His sheltering love and care,
He always welcomes me back, His fellowship willing to share!
I walked with a giant today and we talked of many things.
His voice as calm and soothing as angelic orchestral strings.
He took my hand when I tripped over obstacles along the trail.
His solicitude was so tender for this mortal man so frail.
I walked with a giant today - He was concerned about brotherhood.
He sadly mused, "Why can't humankind turn from evil and do good?
Oh! If only folks to one another would strive to be less cruel!
This could be, if only they'd abide by The Golden Rule!"
I walked with a giant today - He showed me the grandeur of Creation.
Magnificent tor and bountiful plain created for our inspiration.
Towering trees, pristine lakes, sleek cattle of the prairie.
The majestic golden eagle surveying his domain from its aerie!
The giant I strolled with today was my friend Jesus of Galilee.
Though unseen, His presence was as real to me as could be!
What a guide, what a pal, a true and trusted friend indeed!
An understanding and compassionate friend to turn to when in need!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Honorable Mention in the "Poem of Faith" Contest - June 2010
Angels sing from up above
They sing songs of pain and songs of love
They sing songs of life and songs of the divine
They sing songs lamenting the state of humankind
Angels sing and I wish I could sing with them
For now, I can only listen and pretend that I live not in a mayhem
That life does be not miserable
That life does be as beautiful as a fable
Angels sing and they take me up above the clouds
I wish I could make them proud
I wish I could be perfect as a human being
But hey, I am not made of the perfect, I am but a human being
So I listen to their songs
I listen and pray to God to forgive me for basking in the wrong!
'What is this place?' the bluebird cheeped
"It's hell on earth" his mother peeped
"The bodies that you see down there
Were once the neighbours who would share
But slowly through the course of time
Evil filled their hearts and mind
They segregated different kin
And punished for an unknown sin"
'But look mother, there are children there
Do their parents not know or care?'
"The parents are a skeletal shell
That live within the walls of hell"
The bodies that were brittle, battered
Rushed to and fro and quickly scattered
As gunshots rang throughout the air
The bodies fell, no one did care
"What's that smell?" The bluebird cried
"The smell of death" his mother sighed
For down below in great big towers
The living dead were sent to showers
These showers were not meant to clean
But kill en masse, a wicked scene
'But, mother, they are all as one
Made up of skin and flesh and bone'
"Unfortunately they do not see
A life as simple as you and me
They fight for land that they can't own
A senseless act for that is known;
The world it should belong to all
Or else the planet will soon fall"
"When will it stop?" the bluebird asked
"As time goes on" his mother masked
"There will be wars and fighting more
But once again their hearts will soar
The memories of this time forgotten
Its degradation turning rotten
Only time will tell the tale
If humankind can prevail"
To again find myself among the quick on a brilliant summer morn;
To be content with my lot as I begin my daily bourne;
To behold God's awesome universe in all that I survey;
These are just a few of the things that really make my day!
Blessed with God's everlasting love of which I'm undeserving of;
Hearing, "I love and rely on you", from the ones I love;
And hearing words of encouragement from others along the way;
These are very special things that really make my day!
Hearing the doctor say, "You're in the best of health, old boy!"
Outstanding achievements by my kin that bring me untold joy;
To freely worship and chat with The One who listens as I pray;
These are indeed extraordinary things that really make my day!
To take a leisurely stroll along a rippling mountain brook;
Ah! The joy of a rainbow trout wriggling on my hook!
A beautiful sunset reflecting upon a tranquil bay;
These are memorable things that really make my day!
Oh, that humankind would lay down arms and live in brotherhood;
That diverse cultural bars would be overcome and understood;
To find a lasting peace and all sadness and suffering allay;
These are things hoped for that would really make my day!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved